
^^5^^ 



^^^«KS^^^v^>:!Wk\^^K«f«^'S>S^^i;'^^^^^ 



mmmmm/mi 



HOMESTEA 

- POEMS 



i 





I HEAR THE HUMMING OF THE WHEEL. 



[.page 1. 



OLD HOMESTEAD POEMS 



BY ^/ 



WALLACE BRUCE 



Jlluatrateb 




NEW YORK 

HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 

1888 



■J - 



Copyright, 1887, by Harper & Brothers. 

All rights reserved. 



TO 
THE MEMORY OF HER 

WHO FILLED THE OLD HOMESTEAD WITH SUNSHINE 

AND 

WHO LONG SINCE PASSED INTO 

THE LIGHT THAT KNOWS NO SHADOW 

fill) illotljcr 

THESE POEMS 
ARE LOVINGLY DEDICATED 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

The Old Homestead 1 

The Stranger 7 

'''■Inasrauch " 8 

A Hand - Shake 13 

The Snoiv Angel 15 

Tke Hack where niy Mother Played 17 

The Pinnter-Boya Dream 19 

The NuptlaU 22 

ScotVs Greeting to Burns 23 

A Nooning : Yale, 1887 27 

Parson Allen^s Ride 32 

YorMown, 1881 35 

The Long Drama 39 

The Trij) of the Bell 47 

2'he Candle Parade 49 

The Silent Soldier 54 

The Hudson 56 

Remembrance 69 

The Forest Ballot 70 

Decoration -Day 72 

Memorial-Day 74 

" Veterans " 76 

Our Nation Forever 79 

The Yosemite 80 

Ad Astra per Aspera 84 

The Wisco7isin War Fagle 88 

The Slave's Prayer 91 

Kindness 94 



viii Contents. 

Page 

Wendell Phillips 97 

Longfellow 98 

The Land of Burns 99 

To a Picture of Mary Stuart 105 

A Bally 106 

The Pioneers 109 

A Star-Eyed Daisy 112 

A Tennessee Toast 118 

The Club of Tahawas 114 

An Island Fancy 116 

Ttdi][>s 122 

A Holland Brick 123 

Paris to Helen 124 

To B. T. Vincent 125 

To J. H. Warren 127 

To Boh Burdette 130 

Waseca 132 

^^ Shall Stand with Kings " 135 

God's Hearth -Stone 139 

The Eagle's Quill 141 

The Music of Light 144 

Questions 145 

The Infinite 148 

Shadows 149 

My Christmas Preserd 151 

Witch-IIazel Lashes 154 

A Coast Survey 156 

Jidiet to Romeo 158 

Antony to CleojMtra 159 

Ferdinand to Miranda 160 

Annie 161 

My Castle 162 

A Wanderer 164 

To my Wife 167 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Page 

" / hear the Humming of the Wheel " Frontispiece 

'^ And Ashes lie tipon the Hearth "".... '•'> 

^^ And Life and Love are all complete '" 5 

" Took the two Bits from her Fingers, changed the Silver Piece for Gold " . . 9 

" That ever the Fairies seemed to be her Playmates ivhen a Child " 17 

The Catamount Tavern ^^3 

" Where Britain laid her Banner doivn " 37 

'■'■That low-roofed Dwelling shelters still the Phantom Tenants of the Past"'. . 40 

" The Man is grander than the King "" 43 

^'^ Along its Heights the Beacons gleamed"" 45 

'■'■ And round the Bluff a Paddle dips " 57 

" Or else that Flagon's wondrous draught " 50 

"■Fort Putnam's gray and ruined Wall " (51 

" The Spot where Kosciusko dreamed '' 63 

" Where Geoffrey Crayon came to rest " (54 

^'And noiv, beneath the Palisades " 66 

'■'■Beloiv the Cliff's Manhattan's Spires " 67 

'■'■ A World'' s Cathedral, ivith Walls sublime"*. 80 

'■^ As thy Granite -walled Yosemite " 83 

" Who comes to till the virgin Soil " 85 

" Crossing Mountains grim and dark " 93 

" The Stream glides on to the Sea. " 95 

The Brig o' Boon 100 

''Dark Glencoe " 102 

" That little ' Cottage ' thatched with Straw " 103 



X Illustrations. 

Page 

''■For there the *■ Daisij'' was aptorn " 104 

" Sit doivn hy our Table and eat of our Kail " 107 

" To bleak lona's pebbled Strand " '. . . 110 

" 0)u-e more on the Shore of the Upper Ausable '' 114 

Miranda 117 

'■'■And the Annies that wander bj/ Avon-streani " 119 

" The fairest, the brir/htest, the sweetest is here " 121 

'' Eaeh breakinrf Wave on Lakeside's Strand" 12G 

'■'■The evening Fires are burning dim along Chaufauqua's western Rim'"' 130 

" Where is the Shore bei/ond the Sea T' 147 

" Silver Sheen illumes the Deep " 14t) 

'■'■ Shadoivy Shapes of Yon and Me ". 150 

" We^re richer than the 2\i.v-li.sf shows " 153 

" Hazel Eyes of witching power " 155 

"/ have sailed over many a, Sea " 165 

" Some sioeet and quiet Nook " 167 



OLD HOMESTEAD POEMS. 



THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 

Welcome, ye pleasant dales and hills, 

Where, dreamlike, passed my early days 
Ye cliffs and glens and laughing rills 

That sing unconscious hymns of praise ! 
Welcome, ye woods, with tranquil bowers 

Embathed in autumn's mellow sheen. 
Where careless childhood gathered flowers. 

And slept on mossy carpets gi-een ! 

The same bright sunlight gently plays 

About the porch and oi'chard trees; 
The garden sleeps in noontide haze. 

Lulled by the murmuring of the bees; 
The sloping meadows stretch away 

To upland field and wooded hill ; 
The soft blue sky of peaceful day 

Looks down upon the homestead still. 

I hear the humming of the wheel — 

Strange music of the days gone by; 
I hear the clicking of the reel ; 

Once more I see the spindle ^y. 
How, then, I M-ondered at the thread 

That narrowed fi-oni the snowy wool, 
Much more to see the pieces wed. 

And wind upon the whirling spool ! 



Old Homestead Poems. 

I see the garret once again, 

With rafter, beam, and oaken floor; 
I hear the pattering of the rain 

As summer clouds go drifting o'er. 
The little window towards the west 

Still keeps its webs and buzzing flies. 
And from this cosey childhood nest 

Jack's bean - stalk reaches to the skies. 

I see the circle gathered round 

The open fireplace glowing bright. 
While birchen sticks with crackling sound 

Send forth a rich and ruddy light. 
The window - sill is piled with sleet, 

The w^ell - sweep creaks before tiie blast. 
But warm hearts make the contrast sweet. 

Sheltered from storm, secure and fast. 

O loved ones of the long ago. 

Whose memories hang in golden frames. 
Resting beneath the maple's glow. 

Where few e'er read your chiselled names, 
Come back, as in that Christmas night. 

And fill the vacant chairs of mirth ! 
Ah me! the dream is all too bright. 

And ashes lie upon the hearth. 

Below the wood, beside the spring, 

Two little children are at play, 
And Hope, that bird of viewless wing. 

Sings in their hearts the livelong day. 
Tlie acorns patter at their feet. 

The squirrel chatters 'neath the trees. 
And life and love are all complete — 

They hold Aladdin's lamp and keys. 

And, sister, now my children come 

To find the water just as cool. 
To play about our grandsire's home. 

To see our pictures in the pool ; 




AND ASHES LIE UPON THE HEARTH. 



The Old Homestead. 




"AND LIFE AND LOVE AKE ALL COMPI,ETE. 



Their laughter fills the shady glen, 

The fountain gurgles o'er with joy- 
That, after years full three times ten, 

It finds its little girl and boy. 
Ko other spring in all the world 

Is half so clear and cool and bright, 



Old Homestead Poems. 

No other leaves by autumn curled 
Keflect for me such golden light. 

Of childhood's faith this is the shrine; 
I kneel beside it now as then, 

And though the spring's no longer mine, 
I kiss its cooling lips again. 

Unchanged it greets the changeful years ; 

Its life is one unending dream ; 
No record here of grief or tears. 

But, like the limpid meadow stream, 
It seems to sympathize with youth, 

Just as the river does wnth age, 
And ever whispers — sweetest truth 

Is written on life's title-page. 



THE STRANGER. 

AN EASTERN LEGEND. 

An aged man came late to Abraliain's tent. 

The sky was dark, and all the plain was bare. 
He asked for bread ; Iiis strength was wellnigh spent, 

His haggard look implored the tenderest care. 
The food was brought. He sat with thankful eyes, 

But spake no grace, nor bowed he towards the east. 
Safe sheltered here from dark and angry skies, 

The bounteous table seemed a royal feast. 
But ere his hand had touched the tempting fare, 

The Patriarch rose, and leaning on his rod — 
"Stranger," he said, "dost thou not bow in prayer? 

Dost thou not fear, dost thou not worship God f 

He answered, "Nay." The Patriarch sadly said: 
"Thou hast my pity. Go! eat not my bread." 

Another came that wild and fearful night. 

The fierce winds raged, and darker grew the sky ; 
But all the tent was filled with wondrous liglit, 

And Abraham knew the Lord his God was nigh. 
" Where is that aged man ?" the Presence said, 

"That asked for shelter from the driving blast? 
Who made thee master of thy Master's bread ? 

What right hadst thou the wanderer forth to cast ?" 
"Forgive me, Lord," the Patriarch answer made, 

With downcast look, with bowed and trembling knee. 
"Ah me! the stranger might with me have stayed, 

But, O my God, he Avould not worship Thee." 

"Pve borne him long," God said, "and still I wait; 
Couldst thou not lodge him one night in thy gate?" 



" INASMUCH." 

A CHRISTMAS STORY. 

You say that yon want a Meetin'- house for the boys in the gnlcli up 

there, 
And a Sunday-school with pictur' - books ? Well, put me down for a 

share. 
I believe in little children ; it's as nice to iiear 'em read 
As to wander round the ranch at noon and see the cattle feed. 
And I believe in preachin' too — by men for preachin' born. 
Who let alone the husks of creed and measure out the corn. 
The pulpit's but a manger where the pews are Gospel -fed; 
And they say 'twas to a manger that the Star of Glory led. 
So I'll subscribe a dollar toward the manger and the stalls ; 
I always give the best I've got whenever my partner calls. 
And, stranger, let me tell you : I'm beginning to suspect 
That all the world are partners, whatever their creed or sect ; 
That life is a kind of pilgrimage — a sort of Jericho road. 
And kindness to one's fellows the sweetest law in the code. 
No matter about the 'nitials — from a fai-mer, you nnderstand, 
Who's generally had to play it alone from rather an ornary hand. 
I've never struck it rich, for farming, you see, is slow ; 
And whenever the crops are fairly good the prices aie always low. 
A dollar isn't very much, but it helps to count the same; 
The lowest trump supports the ace, and sometimes wins the game. 
It assists a fellow's praying when he's down upon his knees — 
" Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these." 
I know the verses, stranger, so j'ou needn't stop to quote ; 
It's a different thing to know them or to say them off by rote, 
ril tell you where I learned them, if you'll step in from the rain : 
'Twas down in 'Frisco, years ago — had been there hauling grain; 
It was just across the ferry, on the Sacramento pike. 
Where stores and sheds are rather mixed, and shanties scatterin' like — 



''''Inasmuch''' ii 

Not the likeliest place to be in. I remember the saloon, 

With grocery, market, baker -shop, and bar-room all in one. 

And this made up the picture — mj hair was not then gra^-, 

But everything still seems as real as if 'twere yesterday. 

A little girl with haggard face stood at the counter there — 

Not more than ten or twelve at most, but worn witli grief and 

care ; 
And her voice was kind of raspy, like a sort of chronic cold — 
Just the tone you lind in children who are prematurely old. 
She said: "Two bits for bread and tea, ma hasn't much to eat; 
She hopes next week to work again, and buy us all some meat. 
We've been half- starved all winter, but spring will soon be here, 
And she tells us, 'Keep up courage, for God is always near.'" 
Just then a dozen men came in ; the boy was called away 
To shake the spotted cubes for drinks, as Forty-niners say. 
I never heard from human lips such oaths and curses loud 
As rose above the glasses of that crazed and reckless crowd. 
But the poor tired girl sat waiting, lost at last to revels deep, 
On a keg beside a barrel in the corner, fast asleep. 
Well, I stood there, sort of waiting, until some one at the bar 
Said, "Hello! I say, stranger, what have you over thar?" 
The boy then told her story ; and that crew, so fierce and wild, 
Grew intent, and seemed to listen to the breathing of the child. 
The glasses all were lowered. Said the leader : " Boys, see here ; 
All day we've been pouring whiskey, drinking deep our Christmas 

cheer. 
Here's two dollars. I've got feelings, which are not entirely dead. 
For this little girl and mother suffering for the want of bread." 
"Here's a dollar." "Here's another;" and they all chipped in their 

share, 
And they planked the ringing metal down upon the counter there. 
Then the spokesman took a gold^ double -eagle from his belt, 
Softly stepped from bar to counter, and beside the sleeper knelt; 
Took the "two bits" from her fingers, changed her silver piece for 

gold. 
"See there, boys, the girl is dreaming." Down her cheeks the tear- 
drops rolled. 
One by one the swarthy miners passed in silence to the street. 
Gently we awoke the sleeper, but she started to her feet 



1 2 Old Homestead Poefns. 

"With a dazed and strange expression, saying : " Oh, I thonglit 'twas 

true ! 
Ma M'as well, and we were happy; round oiii- door-stone roses grew. 
We had everything we wanted, food enough, and clothes to wear; 
And my hand burns where an angel touched it soft \\\t\\ fingers fair." 
As she looked and saw the money in her fingers glistening bright — 
'' Well, now, ina has long been praying, but she won't believe me 

quite. 
How you've sent 'way up to heaven, where the golden treasures are. 
And have also got an angel clerking at your grocery bar." 
That's a Christmas story, stranger, which I thought you'd like to liear; 
True to fact and human nature, pointing out one's duty clear. 
Hence, to matters of subscription you will see that I'm alive — 
Just mark off that dollar, stranger; I think I'll make it five. 



A HAND -SHAKE. 

TO A CLASSMATE, AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS. 

{Recited before a Lecture at Dubuque, loica.) 

What! fifteen years? No, not tliat long! 
The record, David, must be wrong. 
Dear Mother Yale, correct your sight, 
It's only 'sixty -seven to-night. 

There's some mistake — no jesting here — 
We're hardly out of senior year. 
Dear mother, look again, I pray! 
Last June was our Commencement -day. 

The elms on old New Haven green 
Have scarcely lost their russet sheen ; 
It only seems an evening since 
We sat upon the college fence. 

But tell me, now, whose bairns are these — 
Bright boys and girls, about your knees ? 
Somehow they seem to look like yon. 
Old Yale is right — 'tis 'eighty -two. 

Ay, facts are chiels which winna ding, 
And bairns are facts the decades bring. 
Come home with me, I'll introduce 
Another flock that looks like Bruce. 

I think we'll have another pair 

To take our seats in college there — 



14 Old Homestead Poems. 

Ah, David, how old Yale will shine 
When she receives your boys and mine ! 

They'll never sleep in Chapel ! — no ! — 
Like bricks tipped sideways in a row ; 
They'll never help eacli other throiiiih 
Old Euclid, like some lads we knew. 

It's our good -luck and dearest joy 
To find more gold in each alloy ; 
For in each bright and childish face 
We both can read their mother's grace. 

Let othei's boast their gear and wealth, 
These are our treasures, rich with health ; 
The livino; orold that's coined above. 
Fresh from the mint, and stamped with love. 

Upon this truth we take our stand. 
Two brothers of a scattered band. 
Give us your liand, for words are lame, 
I find you, David, just the same ; 

AVith cheery voice, with generous heai't, 
With will to do the manly part ; 
A noble leader now as then — 
'Twas then of boys, but now of men. 



THE SNOW ANGEL. 

The sleigh-bells danced that winter night; 

Old Brattleboro rang with glee ; 
The windows overflowed with light ; 

Joy ruled each hearth and Cliristmas- tree. 
But to one the bells and mirth were naught : 
His soul with deeper joy was fraught. 

He waited until the guests were gone ; 
He waited to dream his dream alone ; 
And the night wore on. 

Alone he stands in the silent nio^ht ; 

He piles the snovv^ in the village square ; 
With spade for chisel, a statue white 
From the crystal quarry rises fair. 
No light save the stars to guide his hand. 
But the image obeys his soul's command. 
The sky is draped with fleecy lawn, 
The stars grow pale in the early dawn, 
But the lad toils on. 

And lo ! in the morn the people came 

To gaze at the wondrous vision there ; 
And they called it " The Angel," divining its name. 

For it came in silence and unaware. 
It seemed no mortal hand had wrought 
Tlie uplifted face of prayerful thought ; 

But its features wasted beneath the sun ; 
Its life went out ere the day was done; 
And the lad dreamed on. 



1 6 Old Homestead Poems. 

And his dreiun was this: In the years to be 

I will carve the Angel in lasting stone ; 
In another land beyond the sea 

I will toil in darkness, will dream alone. 
Wiiile others sleep I will find a way 
Up throngh the night to the light of day. 

There's nothing desired beneath star or snn 
Which patient genius has not won. 
And the bo}' toiled on. 

The years go by. lie has wrought with might; 

He has gained renown in the land of art ; 
]>ut the thought inspired that Christmas night 
Still kept its place in the sculptor's heart; 
And the di'eam of the boy, that melted away 
In the light of the sun that winter day, 

Is embodied at last in enduring stone, 
Snow Angel in marble — his purpose won ; 
And the man toils on. 



THE ROCK WHERE MY MOTHER PLAYED. 

I HEAR the notes of the whippoorwill 

As of old in the gathering shade ; 
I sit by the rock on the qniet hill 

Where in girlhood my mother played. 






"that ever the fairies seemed to be her playmates when a child. 
2 



1 8 Old Homestead Poems. 

With cheeks out-blooming the morning flowers, 
And with heart as light as May, 

It was here that she came in the golden hours. 
By the lichened rock to play : 

A granite waif, by glacier borne 
From a far-away northern sea; 

It seemed so lonely, from kindred torn, 
That she kept it company. 

Till all in fancy or witching dream 
It shone with a glimmering light, 

While fairies trooped in the moon's pale beam, 
To dance through the summer night. 

And such was her tender grace to me. 
As we wandered the forest wild. 

That ever the fairies seemed to be 
Her playmates when a child. 

And she, a queen of the Sylphid race, 
On her silvery throne held sway; 

But alas! I dream of her girlish face, 
And the rock is cold and gray. 

For the fairies went when my mother died. 
And m}^ years were scarcely ten ; 

I come to-night from wandering wide, 
But they never will come again. 

I love the garden and orchard old, 
The meadows her footsteps pressed. 

And the stately oaks that shook their gold 
In the lap of their gentle guest. 

I love the spring and the rippling rill. 
Where in evening she often strayed; 

But dearer to me the quiet hill 

And the rock where mj' mother played. 



THE PRINTER -BOY'S DREAM. 

On a rickety stool by a rickety door 
Of the editor's room on the upper floor, 

In the inner sanctum of pen and shears, 
Sat a printer's boy of uncertain years 

Waiting for copy; and all was still 
Save the rasping scratch of a rapid quill. 

The Carrier's Address was being born 

In the old-time verse for the New Year's morn; 

And the editor wrote like a man inspired, 
But the hour was late, and the boy was tired. 

Congressional Records, in binding grim, 
And Patent Eeports looked down on him — 

Plump volumes revealing the nation's health, 
And of books the editor's only wealth. 

Large files of papers, dusty and old. 
In unswept corners quietly told 

That his paper was somehow a thing of dates. 
While the plums were reserved for happier fates. 

But the books, and the files, and the editor gray. 
To the drowsy boy were fading away ; 



20 Old Homestead Poems. 

And the narrow room seemed a gallery grand, 
With rich wrought carvings on every hand. 

Beautiful volumes quaint and old, 
Yellow vellums with clasps of gold, 

Arranged in ebony cases rare. 
Greeted his vision everywhere ; 

And he noted — the books in tens were placed, 
And a hundred volumes each alcove graced. 

Eighteen were closed with a brazen bar. 
But the Nineteenth alcove was still ajar. 

No parchment here ; the books were new. 
And the last was registered Eighty- two; 

While a boy in feature resembling him. 
Not ragged and soiled, but neat and trim. 

Near the lower shelf, he seemed to see 
Placing another marked Eighty- three ; 

And an angel sat in a golden chair. 
Writing in characters bright and fair 

With a noiseless pen ; and the volume bore 
On the clear white margin Eighty -four. 

But the vision vanished with, "Johnny, come! 
This to the foreman, and then go home. 

"Wait, one line more — a merry cheer! 
To each and all a blithe New -year!" 

Gone were the alcoves with carving old, 
And volumes rich with clasps of gold ; 



The Printer-boy s Dream. 1 1 

The Patent Reports came back again, 
The whitewashed wall, the dingy den ; 

And the angel that sat in glory there 
Was the editor gray in his old arm-chair. 



THE NUPTIALS. 

NEW YORK AND BROOKLYN, 1883. 

The nuptial -knot at last is firmly tied; 

A linndred bells ring out a merry chime, 
A hundred wires proclaim to every clime — 

Manhattan takes fair Brooklyn for his bride. 

In strength and beauty growing side by side, 
Cities betrothed, you waited vigorous prime, 
Like steadfast lovers of the olden time. 

Ere greed and gain our early faith defied. 

We wish you joy. No longer twain, but one. 
Forever bound in links of triple steel ; 

You need no marriage ritual to rehearse, 
Which Venice chanted to bright Adria won ; 
No golden ring ; the service now is real — 
" Each other take for better or for worse." 



SCOTT'S GREETING TO BURNS. 

CENTRAL PARK, NEW YORK, 1880. 

We greet you, Robie, here to-night, 
Beneath these stars so pure and bright ; 
We greet you, poet, come at last 
With "Will" and me your lot to cast. 

We've talked about you many a day, 
And wondered when you'd be this way. 
Reach out your hand, and gie's a shake 
Just ance, for auld acquaintance' sake. 

We welcome you from Scotia's land. 
And reach to you a brither's hand ; 
A kindred soul to greet you turns — 
Will Shakespeare, this is Eobie Burns. 

We've sung your songs here many a night 
Till that dear star is lost in light. 
And Willie says the lines you wrote 
Will even do for him to quote. 

He likes your verses wondrous weel, 
And says you are a glorious chiel ; 
In fact, the only one that knows 
The space 'twixt poetry and prose. 

O Robie, if we had a plaid, 

We'd quite convert yon Stratford lad. 

He said, in truth, but yester-morn, 

"I'm Scotch in wit, though English born; 



24 Old Homestead Poems. 

"And, Walter, it may yet appear 
That Scotland takes in Warwickshire. 
Let Avon be the border line, 
Blot out the Tweed, or draw it fine." 

So, Willie, brew yonr peek o' niaut, 
And set the board wi' Attic sant, 
For Rob has come at last, you see — 
We were a pair, bat now we're three. 

W^e need nae itlier comrade now, 
No modern bard o' classic brow; 
'Tis lang before anither man 
Will be admitted to our clan. 

In stormy nights 'twas lonesome here 
When "Will" recited half o' "Lear;" 
But now he quotes O'Shanter's tale 
In thunder, lightning, and in hail. 

And says his witches can't compare 
With those that chased O'Shanter's mare. 
He's even learned your " Deil Address," 
To quote some night for good Queen Bess, 

For, Bobie, this is haunted ground. 
Where spirits keep their nightly round, 
And when the witchin' hour is near 
You'll see strange beings gather here. 



'fc)^ 



I saw Queen Bess the other night 
Beside him, clad in vesture bright. 
While kings and queens, a noble throng, 
In dim procession passed along ; 

And walls seemed rising from the earth. 
Like Leicester's tower at Kenilworth ; 
And all the pageant that was there 
Seemed floating in the moonlit air. 



Scott's Greeting to Burns. 25 

Aj, beauty, jealousy, and pride, 
In Dudley's halls walked side by side, 
While Amy Robsart seemed to stand 
With fair Ophelia, hand in hand. 

And, Kobie, what a vision came 

As Willie whispered Ariel's name! 

The towers dissolved, and round him drew 

The stately, gentle, fair, and true — 

Miranda, Juliet, Imogen, 
Hermione, and Katharine, 
While Rosalind among them stood — 
The sunlight of sweet Arden's wood. 

'Twere long to pass them in review. 
For still the circle wider grew, 
Until the airy vision bright 
Was lost at last in liquid light. 

So let me whisper in your ear, 
Never to tell what passes liere. 
There'll be a grand reception soon 
To greet the lad frae Bonnie Doon. 

We'll gather up the jolliest crew — 
Falstaff, Prince Ilal, and Rhoderick Dhu; 
And "a' the rantin' brither Scots 
Frae Maiden Kirk tae John 0' Groats." 

So, Robie, mak' j^oursel' at home, 
'Mang friends and brithers you have come, 
And here's a land that's quite as fair 
As that between the Doon and Ayr. 

A land that glories in its youth, 
That owns no creed but living truth, 
AVliere "pith o' sense and pride o' worth" 
A refuge find frae rank and birth; 



2<5 Old Homestead Poems. 

A land that's made jour verses real, 
Whose guinea -stamp is honor's seal; 
Ay, Robie, here they've quite forgot 
To write the "Sir"— just Walter Scott. 

And here yonr songs will ever ring 
Through a' the years the centuries bring, 
Till all are free, and every sea 
Shall know nae shore but liberty. 



A NOONING: YALE, 1887. 

(Read at the Phi Beta Kappa Meeting of the Twentieth Anniversary of the Class of '67. 

Hang up the scythe! Yale's dinner -horn 
Wakes hill and plain with echoes sweet ; 

Again, as in the earlj morn, 

The boys around one table meet, 

To ask each other where and how 

The sloping field or garden lies; 
To wipe the sweat -drops from the brow, 

To brush the moisture from the eyes ; 

To laj aside the coil of care. 

To sit beneath the templed trees, 
A quiet hour of rest to share, 

And bare the forehead to the breeze ; 

To speak, till ej'es and words grow dim. 

Of those who by the wayside fell — 
Fond memory floods the bucket's brim 

Which rises from the homestead well ; 

To sing in brief and simple strain 

The swelling music of the heart, 
A melody with sweet refrain 

That sweeps beyond the bounds of art; 

To note the lines upon the face. 

Where sunshine plays though wrinkles delve: 

Their pointers mark meridian -place; 
The college clock is striking twelve. 



2 8 Old Homestead Poems. 

For us the forenoon's work is done, 
We celebrate our twentieth year, 

The ehns shut out the bhizing sun, 

The drowsy "nooning hour" is here. 

We started forth when glittering dew 
Aladdin's tales did well repeat ; 

The skies have lost their roseate hue, 
The stubble cradkles 'neath our feet. 

We started when the fields were bright, 
And shadows all behind us lay ; 

From noontide now till fading light 
The shadows fall the other way. 

We went with many a ringing shout, 
With merry boast and lusty cheer ; 

We come with love that conquers doubt, 
With hope that triumphs over fear. 

We've earned at least an idle hour 
To talk together in the shade — 

The boy who drew the diamond bower, 
Or he who held the poorest spade ; 

The boy who toiled with brawny arm, 

The youth with fortune's spoon of gold, 

Or lad, like "David," born to charm 
With plumed flights of genius bold. 

We see each individual man 

Poi'trayed as in a magic glass, 

When sixty -seven led the van — 
A royal, independent class, 

Which kept its course through sun and shade 
With grit that never knew defeat. 

And wrote upon each ringing blade 
" Macte Yirtute !" Hard to beat. 



A Nooning: Yale, 1887. 29 

We had no leaders, so to speak, 

No towering genius of control, 
A new republic every week — 

A grand committee of the whole, 

Which went its way, yes, different ways. 

In that cosine and tangent year. 
Twin Euclid -babes in solemn baize, 

€jorne on the old biennial bier. 

We marched full front in battle line. 

We never drilled in squad or file. 
No colonel decked in sashes fine — 

High privates all in general style. 

We read of Arthur's matchless sword. 

And each one thought to try a hand ; 
But visions fled when monthly board 

Dispersed the brave and knightly band. 

We traced the bright inscription fair — 

" Who pulls tliis blade from out the stone ;" 

But, ah ! no Merlin's skill was tliere, 

And none might draw the sword alone. 

And then we dreamed of Portia dear. 

With towers and castles ready made; 
But no Antonio was near 

To start us in the casket trade. 

Till dawned the meaning of the tales 

By Mallory and Siiakespeare told — 
He must attempt who wins or fails, 

And "all that glistens is not gold;" 

That there are other knights of fame 

Than Galahad or brave Gawaine, 
And other maids of sweeter name 

Than Portia fair or dear Elaine ; 



30 Old Homestead Poems. 

That patience does not always win, 
Or genius dream its way to power, 

But both united enter in 

To take the sword and princely dower ; 

That neither wins the race alone, 

That patience pulls while genius steers ; 

Talent is muscle, brawn, and bone. 
Genius the master of the gears. 

Ay, such the lesson of old Yale, 

The crowning glory of her blue — 

That pluck and patience never fail 
With genius coxswain of the crew. 

O darling mother, loved, revered 
By loyal sons in every land, 

Proud of the ten)ples you have reared, 
We come to take you by the hand ; 

To look into your loving face, 

And see the roses on your cheeks, 

To note the glow and matchless grace, 
The living eloquence that speaks 

Of native mettle in the man. 

That sends him forth to do and dare, 

With "menu" spelled American — - 
Our Alma Mater's " bill of fare." 

And so we come from many a field, 
From town and city far and near. 

To trace again your storied shield, 

And read once more our title clear ; 

To hail the fair and crowning arch. 
The widening portal of your fame. 

To note the ever onward march 

Of steadfast Yale with newer name ; 



A Nooning: Yale, 1887. 31 

A University, in trnth, 

That meets the people's high demand, 
A fountain of eternal youth, 

The pride and glory of the land. 

So may we come for many a year, 

Through smiles and tears with spirits blithe, 

A loyal band of classmates dear, 

Till Time for us hangs up his scythe. 



PARSON ALLEN'S RIDE. 

{Read at the Bennington Centennial, 1875.) 

The "Catamount Tavern" is lively to-night, 

The boys of Vermont and New Hampshire are here. 

All dravifn up in line in the lingering light, 

To greet Parson Allen with shout and with cheer. 

Over mountain and valley, from Pittsfield green, 
Through the driving rain of that August day, 

The "Flock" marched on with martial mien, 

And the Parson rode in his "one-horse shay." 

" Three cheers for old Berkshire !" the General said, 
As the boys -of New England drew up face to face. 

"Baum bids us a breakfast to-morrow to spread, 
And the Parson is here to say us the 'grace.'" 

'" The lads who are with me have come here to fight. 
And we know of no grace," was the Parson's reply. 

"Save the name of Jehovah, our country and. right, 

Which your own Ethan Allen pronounced at Fort Ti." 

''To-morrow," said Stark, "there'll be fighting to do. 
If you think you can wait for the morning light; 

And, Parson, Til conquer the British with you. 
Or Molly Stark sleeps a widow at night." 

What the Parson dreamed in that Bennington camp 
Neither Yankee nor Prophet would dare to guess ; 

A vision, perhaps, of the King David stamp. 

With a mixture of Cromwell and good Queen Bess. 



Parson Aliens Ride. 

Ijiit \vc know tlie result of that glorious daj-, 

And the victory won ere the night came down 

How Warner charged in the bitter fray 

With Kossiter, Uobart, and old John Brown ! 

And how, in a lull of the three -hours' fight, 
The Parson harangued the Tory line 

As he stood on a stump, with his musket bright, 
And sprinkled his texts with the powder fine : 



Zl 




THE CATAMOUNT TAVEUN. 



"The sword of the Lord is our battle-cry, 
A refuge sure in the hour of need," 

And freedom and faith can never die 
Is article first of the Puritan creed. 



" Perhaps the ' occasion ' was rather rash," 

lie remarked to his comrades after the rout ; 

'- For behind a bush I saw a flash, 

But I fired that way and put it out." 



34 Old Homestead Poems. 

And many the sayings, eccentric and queer, 

Repeated and sung through the whole country-side, 

And quoted in Berkshire for many a year, 

Of the Pittsfield march and the Parson's ride. 

All honor to Stark and his resolute men, 

To the Green Mountain Boys all honor and praise. 

While with shout and with cheer we welcome again 
The Parson, wlio came in his one-horse chaise. 



YORKTOWN, 1881. 

We stand to-day on Yorktown field, 
Where Britain laid her banner down, 

Where t^-ranny to freedom kneeled, 

And dropped the jewels from her crown. 

We gather here from every land, 

With offerings bronght from near and far, 
Like men of old — -the Eastern band — 

Led onward by the Western star. 

We n)eet around an humble shrine, 

We mark the spot with graven stone, 

A trophy to that Right Divine 

Whereby to manhood we have grown. 

Our hundred years of youth have passed, 
With deeds that prove the Nation brave, 

And strife and jealousy at last 

Lie buried in one common grave. 

One flag floats over all the land, 
One sentiment thrills every heart; 

No foreign foe, no factious band, 
The land we love shall ever part. 

The past is sure, the future waits ; 

The years with enterprise are rife ; 
With hope the century celebrates 

The birthday of a nation's life. 



36 Old Homestead Poems. • 

We measure time bj glorious deeds ; 

All liistorv is sinipl}' this : 
It skips the years; it merely reads 

From Marathon to Salamis. 



We gather courage from the past, 

And from hei'oic pages learn : 
Triumphant freedom finds at last 

A Runnj-mede or Bannoekburn. 

Ay, every struggle to be free 

'Gainst courtly craft and regal might, 
Preserv^es the line of liberty, 

And keeps her armor clean and bright. 

The sceptre and the diadem 

In ev'ry land shall lose their power. 
Freedom's the only flawless gem, 

And equal rights the people's dower. 

The diamond in the monarch's crown 
Is crystallized from peasants' tears ; 

The purple of his royal gown 
Betokens blood of bitter years. 

The scaffold stairs which Sidney trod 
Led from the dungeon to the sky ; 

The tyrant sways a feeble rod 

When patriots dare to do and die. 

Grander the manger than the throne ; 

" Free hearts and hands," the poet sings; 
Freedom and faith, and these alone, 

" The grace of God,'' but not of kings. 



THE LONG DRAMA. 

(Bead at the Centennial of the Disbanding of the American Army, Newbnrgh, N. 7., 1883.) 

With banners bright, with roll of drntns, 
With pride and pomp and civic state, 

A nation, born of courage, comes 
The closing act to celebrate. 

We've traced the drama page by page 
From Lexington to Yorktown field ; 

The curtain drops upon the stage. 

The century's book to-day is sealed. 

A cycle grand — with wonders fraught 
That triumph over time and space — 

In woven steel its dreams are wrought, 
The nations whisper face to face. 

But in the proud and onward march 
We halt an hour for dress parade, 

Remembering tiiat fair freedom's arch 
Springs from the base our fathers laid. 

With cheeks aglow with patriot fire 

They pass in long review again ; 
We grasp the hand of noble sire 

Who made two words of "Noblemen." 

In silence now the tattered band — 

Heroes in homespun worn and gray- 
Around the old Headquarters stand, 
As in that dark, uncertain day. 



40 



Old Homestead Poems. 

That low -roofed dwelling shelters still 
The phantom tenants of the past ; 

Each garret beam, each oaken sill, 

Treasures and holds their memories fast. 

A}', humble walls! the manger -birth 
To emphasize this truth was given : 

The noblest deeds are nearest eartii, 

The lowliest roofs are nearest heaven. 





"THAT LOW-ROOFED DWELLING SHELTERS STILL THE PHANTOM TENANTS OF THE PAST. 



The Long Drama. ai 

We hear tlie anthem once again — 

"No king but God !"— to guide our way, 

Like that of old— " Good- will to men "— 
Unto the shrine where freedom lay. 

One window looking toward the east; 

Seven doors wide-open every side ; 
That room revered proclaims at least 

An invitation free and wide. 

Wayne, Putnam, Knox, and Heath are there ; 

Steuben, proud Prussia's honored son ; 
Brave Lafayette from France the fair, 

And, chief of all, our Washington. 

Serene and calm in peril's hour, 

An honest man without pretence. 
He stands supreme to teach the power 

And brilliancy of common -sense. 

Alike disdaining fraud and art, 

He blended love with stern command ; 
He bore liis country in his heart. 

He held his army by the hand. 

Hush ! carping critic, read aright 

The record of his fair renown : 
A leader by diviner right 

Than he who wore the British crown. 

With silvered locks and eyes grown dim, 

As victory's sun proclaimed the morn, 
He pushed aside the diadem 

With stern rebuke and patriot scorn. 

He quells the half -paid mutineers, 

And binds them closer to the cause; 
His presence turns their wrath to tears. 

Their muttered threats to loud applause. 



42 Old Homestead Poems. 

The great Republic liad its birth 

Tliat lioiir beneatli the army's "wing, 

Whose leader taught by native worth 
Tlie man is srrander than the kiiiof. 

The stars on that bi'ight azure field, 

Which proudly Avave o'er land and sea, 

Were fitly taken from his shield 
To be our common hei-aldry. 

We need no trappings worn and old, 
No courtly lineage to invoke, 

No tinselled plate, but solid gold, 
No thin veneer, but heai't of oak. 

No aping after foreign ways 
Becomes a son of noble sire ; 

Columbia wins the sweetest praise 
When clad in simple, plain attire. 

In science, poesy, and art. 

We ask the best the world can give ; 
We feel the throb of Britain's heart, 

And will while Burns and Shakespeare live. 

But, oh ! the nation is too great 
To borrow emptiness and pride: 

The queenly Hudson wears in state 

Her robes with native pigments dyed. 

October lifts with colors bright 
Its mountain canvas to the sky ; 

The crimson trees, aglow with light, 
Unto our banners wave reply. 

Like Iloreb's bush the leaves repeat 

From lips of flame Avith glory crowned : 

"Put off thy shoes from off th}- feet, 
The place they trod is holy ground." 




THE MAN IS GHANDER THAJJ THE KIMG. 



TJie Lojig Drama. 



45 




"ALONG ITS HEIGHTS THE BEACONS GLEAMED." 

O fairest stream l)eiieatli tlie sun! 

Thj Highland portal was the key 
Which force and treason well nigh won, 

Like that of famed Therinopj'lae. 



That ridge along onr eastern coast, 
From Carolina to the Sound, 

Opposed its front to England's host, 

And heroes at each pass were found — 

A vast primeval palisade, 

With bastions bold and wooded crest, 
A bulwark strong by nature made 

To guard the valley of the West. 



46 Old Homestead Poems. 

Along its heights the beacons gleamed ; 

It formed the nation's battle -line, 
Firm as the rocks and cliffs wliere dreamed 

The soldier -seers of Palestine. 

These hills shall keep their memory sure, 
The blocks we rear shall fall away, 

The mountain fastnesses endure, 

And speak their glorious deeds for aye. 

And oh ! while morning's golden urn 
Pours amber light o'er purple brim, 

And rosy peaks like rubies burn 
Around the emerald valley's rim, 

So long preserve our hearthstone warm ! 

Our reverence, O God, increase! 
And let the glad centennials form 

One long millennial of peace. 



THE TEIP OF THE BELL. 

Fkom I^orthern tide 
To bayou wide, 
With homage meet 
The old bell greet! 
Uncovered stand 
Throno-h all the land 
While chimes peal out 
Its roj'al route ! 

Ring, Baltimore! 
Thy Ches'peake shore 
By nobler guest 
Was never pressed. 
With loyal pride 
Swell free and wide 
Thy chorus grand, 
"My Maryland!" 

Rinff, Washington ! 
The bell that won 
Triumphant fame 
In freedom's name 
Waits at thy gate 
In sovereign state. 
With anthem sweet 
Columbia greet ! 

Ring, Richmond, ring! 
Warm tribute bring, 
Dominion old. 
Where patriots bold 



48 Old Homestead Poems. 

Oppression spurned, 
With words that burned 
From Sumter's strand 
To Plymouth's sand. 

Atlanta, ring! 
Pi'oud steeples swing 
With welcome note 
From brazen throat ! 
Tiie bell salute 
Whose lips, now mute, 
Bade tyrants cower 
To freedom's power. 

Ring, New Orleans! 
Fair queen of queens. 
The centuries share 
Thy reverend prayer. 
God guard the bell 
Which rang so well 
Our nation's birth 
And manhood's worth \ 



THE CANDLE PARADE. 

(Read at the Eighteentli Reunion of the Society of the Army of the Potomac at Saratofja 

Springs, 1887.) 

[One night, after the Army of the Potomac had retnriied from the capture of Richmond to its old camp 
on the hills of Alexandria, a company, each man carrying a lighted candle in his gun, began to march in 
sportive procession. Regiments and brigades canght the spirit, and the accumulated supplies of candle ra- 
tions were soon utilized by dancing columns wheeling and winding iu every direction as far as the eye could 
reach.] 

Once again Potomac's Army answers to the muster-roll; 
Once again the old-time music tiirills the soldier's heart and soul. 
Itank on rank, with cheer and gladness, rally at the bugle -call 
On the field of Saratoga, underneatli its mountain - wall, 
Where McGregor's evening shadows fall upon the crystal tide, 
At the gate -way of the cottage whei-e the nation's liero died ; 
Where the streams in gentle music still our father's requiem chant. 
And the pine, the oak, the maple, and the laurel echo — Grant. 

Name revered, that clasps great rivers evermore in loving thi-all : 
Queenly Hudson, fair Potomac, Mississippi — king of all ; 
Pivers three, that bind one nation from the Gulf to Northern lakes, 
From the Pockies to Vii'ginia, where the loud Atlantic breaks; 
Arms entwined and interlocking, holding in their wide embrace 
Sweeping hills and lordly mountains of the Appalachian race ; 
Fertile fields and rolling prairies with their wealth of floral bloom. 
Plucked and borne by loving fingers to the loyal Logan's tomb. 

Fruit of gold in silver pictures — waving fields by rivers framed ; 
States discordant reunited, love and land and flag reclaimed: 
Fruit of gold — a century's harvest, in war's reaping rudely shorn — 
Garnered heroes, named and nameless, swift on fiery chariots borne. 
Pest in peace by stately rivers, martyred soldiers of the free ! 
Pest, brave captain, at our threshold, where the Hudson meets the sea ! 
4 



50 Old Homestead Poems. 

While Mount Yernon's sacred portal sentinels Potomac's waves, 
Mississippi sends her greetings to the streams that guard their graves. 

Fair Potomac ! dear Potomac ! at thy name what memories throng ! 

Deeds of heroism blazoned in a nation's art and song. 

Onward sweeps the steady column to the sound of life and drum ; 

Solid phalanx, proud battalion; see the sun -browned veterans come. 

Forward, to the touch of elbow, as of old in long review : 

Missing comrades take their places in the ranks that wear the blue. 

" On to Richmond !" " On to Richmond !" swells the old familiar 

cry. 
"On this line" — you know the context — comes the soldier's brief reply. 

Southward now, with ranks concentring, reads the order of the day, 

Wilderness and Spottsylvania marking halts along the way, 

Where the trees are mowed with bullets — brothers battling hand to 

hand — 
Blue and gray, with kindred courage worthy of one fatherland ; 
Both alike in silent trenches guarding now the peaceful scene. 
Waiting till the morn's reveille wakes the camps of waving green. 
Southward still across Korth Anna, thirty miles fron) Rapidan ; 
Southward, by the left flank marching, gallant Hancock in the van, 

IIow each message, fraught with glory, taught a listening land the 

names 
Of the Old Dominion rivers, from Potomac to the James I 
IIow you kept the "Dailies" busy with their topographic maps — 
One eye on the Shenandoah, one on Sherman's shoulder-straps! 
Sheridan in rapid orbit, like a genuine son of Mars, 
Sherman on the outer circle, Saturn - like among the stars ; 
Here and there a warlike comet — dauntless Custer, dashing " Kil ;" 
But they had to "get up Early" to compete with "Little Phil," 

Who can paint that panorama, clear and perfect in detail ? 
Who can trace the telling bullets in that storm of leaden hail ? 
Who can twine a fitting garland for each dear heroic name. 
Or untwist the strands of glory in the cable of our fame ? 
This sutiiceth and abideth — every thread is firm and true ; 
Homespun texture, double woven, colors fast — red, white, and bine ; 



The Candle Parade. 5 1 

Knotted well at Appomattox, tied to keep the tJireads in place, 
Never more to be unravelled in the nation's onward race. 

Homeward now with flaunting banners, every heart with triumph 

thrills ; " 
Homeward to the old-time quarters on the Alexandria hills. 
Once again a thousand camp-fires on the wide horizon glow; 
Once again the canvas city spreads its tents of drifted snow ; 
All the long, fierce conflict over, day of Jubilee is here ; 
No more longing, no more waiting — give us, boys, a song of cheer. 
Hail the bright -illumined city, with its crowning dome of white! 
Hail Columbia! hail Potomac! All the land is free to-night! 

What is that along the hill -side? See a hundred twinkling points 
Starting up and gliding slowly, serpent -like, with glittering joints. 
Mark the sweeping curves of beauty as in waving lines it breaks, 
Holding all the wide encampment in its folds of fiery flakes — 
Solid squares and ranks of twinkle putting phantasy to shame ; 
Phosphorous billows in the darkness gemmed with drifting dots of 

flame ; 
Ghostly folds of sable serge -cloth trimmed with glittering golden 

braid ; 
Spirit -lights of weird battalions dancing all in masquerade. 

You remember well the sombre silence of that vision vast ; 

As a background for the pageant, all the sky was overcast. 

Then upon the stillness breaking came the old familiar airs, 

Choral links of home and camp-fire treasured in a nation's prayers — 

"Home, Sweet Home" and "John Brown's Body," "Dixie-Land" 

and "Old Camp -ground," 
Swinging symphonies commingled in one bright bouquet of sound. 
Then from out the ruddy petals " Forward !" came the order shrill. 
And the visioned scene was mortal — 'twas the famous candle -drill. 

No one knew just how it started, how that strange parade began, 
Emblem of the nation's genius and the individual man ; 
Waiting not lieutenant's order, epaulette, or crimson sash. 
Blending in the ready impulse Saxon grit and Gaelic dash. 



5 2 Old Homestead Poems. 

Here, perhaps, a lighted candle in a musket, just for play, 
Then a score, platoon, battalion — all the scene is under way, 
And the chorus, iiroudly swelling, stirs the heart of every corps, 
" We are coming. Father Abram, fifty thousand candles more." 

We are coming, we are coming, as of old the army came — 
"Wide Awakes" and "Little Giants," in one lava stream of flame. 
Knowing but one common duty when the banner was defied. 
Stirred in every nerve and fibre when the gallant Ellsworth died. 
Steadfast Lincoln, Douglas greets you with his followers tried and 

true : 
"Keep for aye the nation's honor, all the stars within the blue." 
Noble hero ! generous rival ! both, alas, too soon to fall. 
Lincoln! still the Douglas greets you, "Dinna ye hear the slogan 

call?" 

Not more quickly sprang that pageant from the silence of the night 

Than the army of the people panoplied in freedom's might; 

Not more swiftly Concord's message flashed from Boston's Old South 

spire ; 
Not more speedily the answer to Clan Alpine's Cross of Fire; 
Not more ready Roderick's followers springing at the whistle shrill. 
Than the loyal yeoman soldiers starting up from plain and hill. 
Not more quickly Highland claymores sank in copse and heathered 

glen 
Than the grand old army veterans back into the land again. 

"One from many," reads our motto, wider, deeper than before — 
Not of states, l)nt individuals — "We, the people," evermore! 
Tell me not of servile soldiers who for king or sovereign died. 
Here a million kings and sovereigns marched to victory side by 

side; 
Brothers all in sacred compact, file and captain equal born; 
Comrade answering to comrade, waiting for the promised morn. 
Far and wide each gleaming taper, " like a good deed," shines abroad, 
Till the flaminw heights of freedom manifest the will of God. 



'fe 



But the hill -side's fading beauty tells us the parade is o'er, 
Like the embers of the camp-fire dying out forevermore. 



The Candle Parade, 53 

Only now in distant windows gleams the candle through the night, 
And the camp-fires change to firesides, with their cheery visions bright 
Streaming out into the darkness past the lane and wicket -gate. 
Where the mother, wife, and sister, all the loved and loving, wait. 
Glorious land to live or die for! Let Columbia bend her knee 
As she grants her proudest honors to the soldiers of the free. 



THE SILENT SOLDIEK. 

[When Grant was dying, a ray of sunlight through the half-closed shuttei'S of his room fell upon Lincoln's 
picture, leaving the General's portrait, which hnng beside it, iu deep shadow. After lingering for a moment 
upon the brow of the martyred President, it passed, at the iustaut of death, and played upon the portrait of 
the great General.] 

From gulf to lake, from sea to sea, 

The land is draped — a nation weeps; 

And o'er the bier bows reverently, 
Whereon the silent soldier sleeps. 

The nionntain - top is bathed in light; 

And eastern cliff with outlook wide — 
Its name shall live in memory bright — 

The Mount MacGregor, where he died. 

A monument to stand for aye. 

In summer's bloom, in winter's snows; 

A shrine where men shall come to pray, 
While at its base the Hudson flows. 

A humble room, the light burns low; 

The morning breaks on distant hill ; 
The failing pulse is beating slow; 

The group is motionless and still. 

Two portraits hang npon the wall. 

Two kindred pictures side b}^ side — 

Statesman and soldier, loved by all — 
Lincoln and Grant, Columbia's pride. 

A single ray through lattice streams, 
And breaks in rainbow colors there; 

On Lincoln's brow a glory gleams 

As wife and children kneel in prayer. 



The Silent Soldier. re 

A halo round the martyr's head, 

It lights the sad and solemn room ; 
Above the living and the dead 

The soldier's portrait hangs in gloom — 

In shadow one, and one in light : 

But look! the pencil -raj has passed, 
And on the hero's picture bright 

The golden sunlight rests at last. 

And so, throughout the coming years. 
On both the morning beam shall play, 

Wiien the long night of bitter tears 
Has melted in the light away. 



THE HUDSON. 



Gra.y streaks of dawn are faintly seen; 

The stars of half their light are shorn ; 
The Hudson, with its banks of green, 

Lies tranquil in the early morn. 

The earth and sky breathe sacred rest — 
A holy peace too sweet to break — 

A spell like that divine behest 
Which stilled the Galilean lake. 

The circling hills, with foreheads fair, 
Await with joy the crowning rays; 

All nature bows in grateful prayer ; 

The templed groves respond with praise. 

Ye trembling shafts of glorious light. 

Dart from the east with golden gleam; 

Cleave the dark shield of fleeing Night, 
And slay her with your arrowy beam. 

Cities and hamlets, up and down 
This level highway to the sea, 

Along the banks sit gray and brown, 
Dim shadows musing dreamily. 

Adown the river sloops and ships 
Float slowly with the lazy tide ; 

And round the bluff a paddle dips 

Where once the storm - ship used to ride. 



The Hudson. 

The vision widens as the morn 

. Sweeps tlirongh the portals of the day ; 
Purple and rosy mists adorn 

Mountain and hill -top far away. 



57 



II. 



The Catskills to the northward rise 

With massive swell and towering crest — 

The old-time "mountains of the skies," 
The threshold of eternal rest ; 




V- 



-^^ 



':'V^:-. ' -J^ sii 



"AND ROUND THE BLUFF A PADDLE DIPS. 



Where Manitou once lived and reigned, 
Great Spirit of a race gone by; 

And Ontiora lies enchained, 

With face uplifted to the sky. 



58 Old Homestead Poems. 

The dream-land, too, of later days, 

Where Rip Van Winkle slept in peace, 

Wrapped up in deep poetic haze — 
A twenty years of sweet release. 

Ay, burning years! a nation's forge! 

To wake to freedom grown to more — 
To find another painted "George" 

Above the old familiar door. 

Through summer heat and winter snow, 
Beside that rushing mountain stream, 

Just how he slept we cannot know; 
Perhaps 'twas all a pleasant dream. 

Mayhap in many a wintry squall, 

Or howling blast, or blinding storm, 

He thought he heard Dame Gretehen call, 
And that sufficed to keep him warm; 

Or else that flagon's wondrous draught, 
Distilled in some weird eltin-Iand, 

Drawn from the keg old Hendrick quaffed, 
And shared by all his silent band. 

O legends full of life and health. 

That live when records fail and die, 

Ye are the Hudson's richest wealth, 
Tfie frondage of her history ! 



III. 



And musing here this quiet morn, 
I call up pictures far away, 

Of fountains where thy wave is born, 
Of rills that in deep shadows play; 



The Hudson. 



59 




Of forest trail, and 

lake and stream, 
Rich poems bound in 

green and gold, 
Whose leaves reflect 

the autumn gleam 
Ere summer months 

are growing old ; 



'OR ELSE THAT FLAGON'S WONDROUS DRAUGHT. 



Of camp-fires bright with dancing flame, 
Where dreams and visions floated free, 



6o Old Homestead Poems, 

And Rosalind, with Annie's name, 
Interpreted tlie dreams to me : 

Lake Avalanclie with rocky w'all, 

And Henderson's dark -wooded shore, 

Your echoes linger still, and call 
Unto mj soul for evermore. 

Tahawas, rising stern and grand, 

" Cloud -sunderer," lift thj forehead high; 

Guard well thy sun -kissed mountain land. 
Whose lakes seem borrowed from the sky. 

O Hudson! mountain -born and free. 
Thy youth a deep impression takes ; 

For, mountain -guarded to the sea, 
Thy course is but a chain of lakes. 

IV. 

And not alone thy features fair. 

And legend lore and matchless gra6e, 

But noble deeds of courage rare. 
Illume, as with a soul, thy face. 

The Highlands and the Palisades 
Mirror their beauty in the tide ; 

The history of M'hose forest shades 
A nation reads with conscious pride. 

On either side these mountain glens 
Lie open like a massive book. 

Whose words were graved with iron pens, 
And lead into the eternal rock ; 

Which evermore sliall here retain 
The annals time cannot erase ; 

And while these granite leaves remain. 
This crystal ribbon marks the place. 



The Hudson. 

The spot where Kosciusko dreamed — 
Fort Putnam's graj and ruined wall ; 

West Point, where patriot bayonets gleamed — 
This open page reveals them all. 

From Stony Point to Bemis Height, 

From Saratoga to the sea, 
We trace the lines, now dark, now bright, 

From seventy -six to eighty -three. 

We celebrate our hundredth year 

With thankful hearts and words of praise, 



63 










^^^;%~. 



"THE SPOT WHEBE KOSCIUSKO DREAMED." 



64 



Old Homestead Poems. 







?'/^ ^y^'i^ 



[vif 



■i 







'<-:!jimk 



^' 



^•r 



^^^4^'^ 

^ ^ ^## 
^^^T^'' 



^iC 




"WHERE GEOFFKEY CRAYON CAME TO REST." 

And learn a lasting lesson here 

Of trust and hope for coming days. 

V. 

And sweet to me this other thought, 
And more than fancy to my mind : 

These grand divisions, plainly wrought, 
In human life a semblance find. 

The Adirondacks, childhood's glee ; 

The Catskills, youth with dreams o'ercast ; 
The Highlands, manhood bold and free ; 

The Tappan Zee, age come at last. 



O Tappan Zee ! with peaceful hills. 
And slumbrous sky and drowsy air, 



The Hudson. 65 

Tlij calm and restful spirit stills 

Tlie heart weighed down with weary care. 

Pocantieo's hushed waters trlide 

Through Sleepy Hollow's haunted ground, 
And whisper to the listening tide 

The name carved o'er one lowly mound. 

Fair mansions rise on every hill, 

With turrets crowned, and stately towers. 

Which men can buy and sell at will ; 
But old Van Tassel's home is ours : 

A quiet, cosey little nest, 

Enshrined and loved for evermore ; 
Where Geoffrey Crayon came to rest. 

When all his wanderings were o'er. 

Thrice blest and happy Tappan Zee, 

Whose banks along thy glistening tide 
Have legend, truth, and poetry 

Sweetly expressed in Sunnj'side. 



•VI. 

The twilight falls, the picture fades ; 

My soul has drifted down the stream ; 
And now, beneath the Palisades, 

I wonder, " Is it all a dream ?" 

Below the cliffs Manhattan's spires 

Glint back the sunset's latest beam ; 

The bay is flecked with twinkling fires ; 
Or is it but "Van Kortlandt's dream V 

Hark ! Freedom's arms ring far and wide ; 

Again these forts with beacons gleam ; 
'Loud cannon roar on every side — 

I start, I wake ; I did but dream. 



66 



Old Homestead Poems. 







"AND NOW, BENEATH THE PALISADES." 

Deep silence 'niid these glorious hills ; 

Dark shadows on the silver stream ; 
My very sonl witli rapture thrills : 

" Is't heaven, or earth, or but a dream?" 



Nay ! true as life, and deep as love, 
And real amid the things that seem ; 

For Earth below and Heaven above 

Proclaim " truth stranger than a dream." 




iijl 



REMEMBRANCE. 

It is sweet to sit at evening, 

When the west is rosy red, 
And to think of friends once with us, 

Of the living and the dead. 

It is sweet to hear at midnight 
Music stealing throngh the air, 

As we feel our spirits rising. 

Heavenward borne on wings of prayer, 

It is sweet to sit by moonlight 

AVliere the waters laugh and play, 

While the sunny days of childhood 
Pass again in bright array ; 

Ever fonder, ever dearer 

Seems our youth that hastened by, 
And we love to live in memory 

When our fond hopes fade and die. 

Yes, like forests tliat seem fairer 

When the leaves their freshness lose, 

So the past, those leaves now fading, 
Tinged with memory lovelier grows. 
5* 



THE FOREST BALLOT. 

When the trees their ballots cast, 
And the forests all are polled, 

Which will win the suffrage vast — 
Crimson leaves or leaves of sold ? 

In the radiant autumn da)'S, 
Silently on hill and wold. 

Through the amber- tinted haze. 
Fall the leaves of red and gold — 

Leaves that keep the cruel stain 
Of the blood of brothers dead, 

Symbols of a nation's pain : 

Count them sadly — leaves of red ; 

Leaves that hold the mellow light 
Of the stars on banner- fold. 

Symbols of enduring right: 

Count them gladly — leaves of gold ; 

Embletns those of dire defeat, 

Emblems these of courage bold ; 

Which will triumph, which is meet — 
Crimson leaves or leaves of gold? 

By the record of the past, 
By that story proudly told, 

By fair freedom won at last. 

Crimson yields to leaves of gold. 



The Forest Ballot. 71 

By the faitii that conquers doubt, 

Right will triuuipli as of old. 
See ! The red is fading out, 

Clearer glow the tints of gold. 

So, when all the leaves are cast, 

And the forest vote is polled, 
With a suffrage wide and vast 

Victory crowns the leaves of gold. 



DECORATION -DAY. 

(Read at the Academy of Music, Neic Torlc, 1882.) 

We deck to-day eacli soldier's grave, 

We come with offerings pure and white 

To bind the brows of those who gave 
Tlieir all to keep our honor bright. 

We cannot pay the debt we owe; 

The_y gave their lives that we might live; 
Our warmest words fall far below 

The worship that we fain would give. 

O country! fairest of the free; 

Columbia ! — name forever blest ; 
O lost "Atlantis" of the sea! 

Securely anchored in the West ; 

Unfold the flag their hands have borne ! 

The shreds of many a well -fought fleld; 
The stripes alone are rent and torn, 

Tlie stars are there, our saci'ed shield. 

Those stars are ours because they died, 
Tlie blue is dearer for their sake, 

Who sleep on many a green hill - side, 
In ranks that never more will break. 

For well they wore the color true 
That holds our constellation fair, 

And evermore the "Boys in Blue" 
Shall have a day of rest and prayer. 



Decoration -Day. 'jt^ 

Yes, martyred heroes of the free ! 

We kneel beside your mounds and pray 
That God our nation's guard may be, 

And comrade's hope from day to day. 

O day baptized in blood and tears ! 

The blood was tiieirs, the tears are ours; 
And children's children througli the years 

Shall strew their graves with sweetest flowers. * 

And May -day garlands all in bloom 

Will quicken other verse than mine, 
And decorate the soldier's tomb 

From Southern palm to JNortheru pine. 



MEMOEIAL-DAY. 

{Bead at Poughkeep»ie, N. T., 1886.) 

I COME with chaplet woven new 

From May -day flowers, to fade away; 

You come to-night, brave boys in bhie, 
With record bright, to last for aye. 

Yet all I have I gladly bring 

With heart and voice at your command ; 
I only wish the words I sing 

Were worthier of your noble band — 

A living wreath of lasting fame 

To match your deeds that fill the world. 
Ah, lyric vain ! each hero's name 

Is on your banners' folds unfurled. 

Those stars are there in setting blue, 
Because you answered to the call. 

We bring no eulogy to you ; 

You honor us — you won it all. 

And what avails our words of praise 
To you who stand as in a dream 

On guard in rugged mountain ways. 
In camp by many a sluggish stream ? 

Among the clouds on Lookout Height, 
With Hooker down in Tennessee; 

Again the boys " mit Sigel fight," 

You march with Sherman to the sea. 



Memorial- Day. n c 

Port Hudson, Vicksbnrg, New Orleans, 

Antietam, Shiloh, Malvern Plill — 
A hundred fields, a thousand scenes 

The moistened lens of memory fill. 

On fields with Grant, whose grave is white 
With flowers from many a distant State, 

Through many a long and weary night 
You learned with him to toil and wait. 

And there with Hancock, soldier true. 

At Gettysburg yon held the line ; 
No nobler heart beneath the blue, 

For him the nation's flowers entwine. 

Brave captains, noble comrades, rest! 

No bugle -note or war's alarms 
Disturb your sleep on Nature's breast — 

That silent camp of grounded arms. 

Your ranks are tliinner, boys, to-day 

Than just one little year ago; 
On many a brow a touch of gray 

Anticipates the winter's snow. 

And fewer comrades, year by year. 

Shall gather summer's kindly bloom, 
And fewer brothers drop the tear 

Upon the soldier's sacred tomb. 

The twenty years have left their trace 

Since you returned the homeward route; 

Twice twenty more your ranks efface; 
The boys will all be mustered out. 

Who kept the faitli and fought the tight; 

The glory theirs, the duty ours ; 
They earned the crown, the hero's right, 

The victor's wreath — a crown of flowers. 



"VETERANS." 

{Read fft the Beunion of the One Hundred and Twenty-eighth Regiment New York State 
Volunteers, at Hudson, N. T., 1887.) 

One word on our lips, and but one to-day; 

One word in our liearts as we gather here, 
Enshrined in our annals to live for aye, 

To freedom and freemen forever dear. 

But how shall we utter with reverence meet 

That word where emotions are more than speech ( 

Wiiere martyred heroes comrades greet, 

Their answers from Heaven's high ramparts reach : 

Go, speak it in whispers where daisies free 
On a million mounds with dews are wet ! 

Herald with trumpet from sea to sea 

The word that a nation mh'II not forget ! 

Attune it to music that thrills the soul 

With old-time fervor remembered yet! 
The smoke -stained banner again unroll! 

The stars in their courses will not forget. 

Engrave it in marble of purest white ; 

In granite columns its letters set ; 
Ay, trace it with pencils of living light 

The blue -domed heavens will not forget. 

These walls proclaim it in glory; behold! 

A loyal welcome to noble sons; 
Through floral lips to brotliers bold 

One word, and that word — " Veterans." 



" Veterans r 11 

We bow before it ; our all is there — 

Our flas:, onr freedom, our land and pride, 
Our country's fame and promise fair — 

The world's great future with outlook wide. 

For that banner is more than painted gauze ; 

It voices the hopes of a thousand years — 
A reiristered charter of sacred laws, 

Full covenant purchased with blood and tears. 

You know its value, survivors few — 

Three hundred now of a thousand then, 
Who marched from our camp in proud review; 

The star -dotted roll-call read again. 

Absent ! Sleeping at Camp Parapet, 

On Chalmette field and at Quarantine, 
With salt -driven spray the roster is wet. 

At Port Hudson's dismal and wild ravine— 

Where brave men spoke with bated breath. 

As brothers fell in that murderous blast ; 
Where fate shook leaden dice with death. 

And cheeks grew pale as the die was cast. 

A black steed dashes across the plain. 

With foam -flecked bridle streaming free, 
A gallant and noble soldier slain, 

Your leader through centuries yet to be. 

Who, fighting, "fell with face to the foe," 

And sent it a message to sorrowing souls- 
Imperial sentence! with Spartan glow. 

On record immortal— our brave Colonel Cowles. 

Ah, well we recall the silent street, 

When that horse was led to the hero's grave. 

With army -cloak on saddle -seat. 

And tiie flag that he gave his life to save. 



yS Old Homestead Poems. 

And well we remember your record, boj's, ' 

In the years that followed when days were d;ii'k. 

As through the Red Sea with steady poise 
Our citizen soldiers bore Liberty's ark. 

And children's children your deeds will relate, 
And cherish your memoi'ies ever dear, 

The gallant One Hundred and Twenty -Eighth, 
Who in days of peril answered — " Here !" 

Ay, long as the statel_y Hudson flows, 
Or the Catskills sentinel -duty keep, 

While lloelefte Jansen singing goes, 

And binds our counties in crystal sweep ; 

Till the fame of our fathers has faded away. 
Till the stars of the old dear banner set, 

Till the gold of the sunlight is sprinkled with gray- 
Columbia and Dutchess will not forget. 



OUR NATION FOREVER. 

{Sxng by »i.r thousand voices at the dose of a Union Concert of Northern and Southern 
Songs in the Chautauqua Amphitheatre, 1883.) 

IviNG out to the stars the glad chorus ! 

Let bells in sweet melody chiine ; 
Ring out to the sky bending o'er us 

The chant of a nation sublime : 
One land with a history glorious ! 
One God and one faith all victorious ! 

Tiie songs of the camp-fires are blended, 
The North and the South are no more ; 

The conflict forever is ended, 

From the lakes to the palm -girded shore. 

Owe people united forever 

In hope greets the promising years ; 

No discord again can dissever 
A Union cemented by tears. 

The past shall retain but one story — 

A record of courage and love ; 
The future shall cherish one glory, 

While the stars shine responsive above. 

Witli emotions of pride and of sorrow, 

Bring roses and lilies to-day; 
In the dawn of the nation's to-morrow 

We garland the blue and the gray. 
One land witii a history glorious ! 
One God and one faith all victorious! 



THE YOSEMITE. 

Waiting to-iiiglit for the moon to rise 
O'er the cliffs that narrow Yosemite's skies ; 
Waiting for darkness to melt away 
In the silver light of a midnight day ; 




"a world's cathedral, with walls sublime. 



Waiting, like one in a waking dream, 
I stand alone by the rushing stream. 
Alone, in a temple vast and grand, 
With spire and turret on every hand ; 



The Yoseniite. 

A world's cathedral, with walls sublime, 
Chiselled and carved bj the hand of Time; 
And over all heaven's crowning dome, 
Whence gleam the beacon -lights of home. 

The spectral shadows dissolve; and now 
The moonlight halos El Capitan's brow ; 
And the lesser stars grow pale and dim 
Along the sheer -cut mountain rim; 
Till, touched with magic, the gray walls stand 
Like phantom mountains on either hand. 

Yet I know they are real, for I see the spray 
Of Yosemite Fall in the moonlight play, 
Swaying and trembling, a radiant glow 
From the sky above to the vale below ; 
Like the ladder of old to Jacob given — 
A line of. liglit from earth to heaven. 

And there comes to my soul a vision dear, 
As of shining spirits hovering near; 
And I feel the sweet and wondrous power 
Of a presence that fills the midnight hour ; 
And I know that Bethel is everywhere. 
For prayer is the foot of the angel stair. 

A light divine, a holy rest. 

Floods all the valley and fills my breast ; 

The very mountains are hushed in sleep 

From Eagle Point to Sentinel Keep ; 

And a life -long lesson is taught me to-night, 

When shrouded in shadow, to wait for the light. 

Waiting at dawn for the morn to break 
By the crystal waters of Mirror Lake ; 
Waiting to see the mountains gray 
Clearly defined in the light of day ; 
Reflected and throned in glory here, 
A lakelet that seems but the vallev's tear. 



82 Old Homestead Poems. 

Waiting ; but look ! the South Dome bright 

Is floating now in a sea of light ; 

And Cloud's Rest, glistening with caps of snow, 

Inverted stands in the vale below, 

With tow'i-ing peaks and cliffs on high. 

Hanging to meet another sky. 

O crystal gem in setting rare ! 
O soul -like mirror in middle air! 
O forest heart of eternal love ! 
Earth-born, but pure as heaven above, 
This Sabbath morn we find in thee 
The poet's dream of purity. 

The hours pass b}' ; I am waiting now 
On Glacier Point's o'erhanging brow ; 
Waiting to see the picture pass. 
Like the fleeting show of a wizard - glass ; 
Waiting ; and still the vision seems 
Woven of light and colored with dreams. 

But the cloud - capped towers, and pillars gray, 

Securely stand in the light of day ; 

The Temple wall is firm and sure ; 

The worshippers pass, but it shall endure. 

And will, while loud Yosemite calls 

To bright Nevada and Yernal Falls, 

O grand and majestic organ choir. 

With deep -toned voices that never tire! 

O anthem written in notes that glow 

On the rainbow bars of Po-ho-no! 

O sweet " Te Deum " forever sung, 

With spray, like incense, heavenward swung ! — 

Thy music my soul with rapture thrills. 

And there comes to my lips "The templed hills; 

Thy rocks and rills," a nation's song, 

From valley to mountain borne along ; 



The Yosemite. 



83 




AS THY GKAiSITE- WALLED YOSEMITE. 



My country's temple, built for thee, 
Crowned with the Cap of Liberty ! 

O country reaching from shore to shore ! 
O fairest land the wide world o'er! 
Columbia dear, whose mountains rise 
From fertile valleys to sunny skies, 
Stand firm and sure, and bold and free, 
As thy granite- walled Yosemite. 



AD ASTRA PER ASPERA. 

{Rend July 4, 1884, at Ottawa, Kansas, before the Chautauqua Assembly on the banks of 

tJie Marais des Cygnes.) 

What mean the gladsome bells to-day, 

Which on onr natal morning wait, 
And greet the sunrise on its way 

From Boston to the Golden Gate? 
AVliat mean yon flags that rnstle free 

From staff and spire and lofty dome, 
And proudly float o'er every sea, 

From tropic waste to Saxon home ? 

They mean the triumph of a race — 

A race that made old England new, 
Which far from kindred sought a place 

To worship God with conscience true — 
A handful tossed by wintry waves, 

A struggle on a desert strand ; 
Ask what they mean of Plymouth graves. 

And Valley Forge's starving band. 

What do they mean ? Each stripe of red 

Speaks of the price our fathers paid ; 
The blue whereon those stars are spread 

Is ours by holiest offering made. 
Their fortune, life, and sacred name 

Are woven in that triple dye ; 
Their deeds are consecrate to fame. 

The "May-flower" blossomed in July. 

They mean that every lasting gain 

Is won through struggle flerce and long. 



Ad Astra per Asp era. 



85 




"■SVHO COMES TO TILL THE VIRGIN SOIL. 



That lip through martyrdom and pain 
The yearning world is growing strong. 

The chosen motto of your State 

Proclaims the history of the years — 



86 Old Homestead Poems. 

"Ad Astra" points with promise great, 

" Per Aspera " means through toil and tears. 

Each rustling field of growing corn 

Whispers your motto near and far, 
Each golden stubble newly shorn 

By scissored knife and shuttled bar, 
Proclaims this truth and something more — 

With honest toil all war shall cease ; 
The scythe -M'heeled chariots of war 

Become the chariots of peace. 

Each muscle of yon moving train, 

Each engine harnessed in a mill, 
The wires which make one throbbing brain 

Of all the land wherein we dwell ; 
Each whisper 'neath the ocean vast 

To other realms beyond the sea, 
Proclaims the struggle of the past, 

The promise of the bright to-be. 

"Per Aspera!'' Years of patient toil 

Which rear the individual man 
Who comes to till the virgin soil, 

And make sublime the primal ban ! 
By manly work to earn his bread, 

To wipe the sweat- drops from his brow! 
More blest than king with crowned head 

The man who guides the pen and plough. 

What does it mean — tliis tented grove. 

These camps that slope unto the stream ? 
Arcadian bliss where lovers rove, 

And quiet haunts where scholars dream % 
Where music lives forevermore, 

And joyous song and sweet refrain ? 
It means Chautauqua to the core — 

A partnership of soul and brain. 



Ad A sir a per Asp era. Sj 

These vistaed trees witli open halls, 

Tiiese aisles with light and shadow flecked, 
Where Nature rears her college walls. 

With rustling vine and foliage decked, 
Pj'oclaim that truth to all is free, 

And hope and everlasting love — 
Free as the brooks that chant in glee, 

Free as the stars that shine above. 

O song sublime ! that ever floats 

Amid these leaves from year to year, 
With soul still marching to the notes 

That rose above IS^orth Elba's bier ! 
Ring out the fountain and the stream 

That washed from off onr flag its stain. 
While freedom crowns the martyr's dream 

Along thy banks, Marais des Cygnes ! 



THE WISCONSIN WAR EAGLE. 

TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION. 

{Read at Monona Lake Assembly, Madison, Wisconsin, 1886.) 

There's a legend in Britain a thousand 3'ears old, 

That King Artiinr will come to his kingdom again, 

To form a pure knighthood of Galahads bold, 

And restore the Round - table once more among men ; 

That his spirit still hovers o'er land and o'er sea 

In the guise of an eagle unfettered and free. 

Through sunshine and tempest he keepeth his way; 

Over cities and deseits his wanderings range ; 
While minsters and castles have gone to decay. 

And England has witnessed vast cycles of change. 
The years have grown dim, but the prophecy waits 
For the eagle to perch upon Camelot's gates. 

You smile at the story, you call it absurd — 

A tale that a mother might sing to her babe — 

But what shall we say of Wisconsin's proud bird, 
The Badger State eagle— ycleped " Old Abe ?" 

Why laugh at the legend of Albion's youth, 

When stranger than legend or fiction is truth ? 

We live among wonders, and ask not the why. 

God speaks in the present as well as the past ; 
The pillar of fire still flames in the sky, 

For the Cromwells and Zwingles that triumph at last; 
The stars in their courses still fight in the van 
Of freedom and progress, the triumph of man. 



The Wisconsin War Eagle. 89 

When the fair Soutliern skj grew black, and the storm 
Of dissension and strife its swift thunder -bolts hurled; 

When the words of Calhoun took on logical form, 

And the stars faded out from our banner unfurled — 

Say, whose was the spirit embodied in thee, 

"Old Abe" of Wisconsin, proud bird of the free? 

I answer : A hero whose soul never swerved 

From honesty, liberty, dutj', and right; 
Wlio knew but one creed — a Union preserved, 

Enduring forever in glory and might; 
I answer, with reason, that Eagle might be 
The spirit of Jackson from old Tennessee. 

For the fathers who nurtured Columbia's life, 

And watched o'er the cradle when freedom was born, 

In the darkness and clamor of q\\\^ and strife, 

When realms o'er the sea pointed fingers of scoi'n, 

Like the angels of Judah our leaders inspired, 

And the heart of the soldier with libertj^ fired. 

Ay, the Pinckneys, the Sumters, and Rutledges came 

To the senates and councils tlieir children had spurned ; 

Took the old vacant seats, though called not by name, 

And their ]iale, phantom cheeks with strange ecstasy burned; 

Their presence helped mould the great national will. 

Until Washington's hand steadied Abrahanj's quill. 

Then the chief of N^ew Oi-leans no lontjer could rest — 

Devoted to country, and true to the core — 
But came as an eairle — Wisconsin's own jruest — 

And " By the Eternal " Old Hickory swore : 
The Father of Waters shall cease flowing south, ^ 
Or acknowledge one flag from its source to its mouth. 

The record unfolds with its chronicle strange, 
Too weird for belief, yet with every line true; 

No annal like this through all history's range — 
The warp and the woof of the story are new. 



go Old Homestead Poems. 

AVho guesses the riddle ? Ali, Jackson enshrined 
Is the only solution the nation can find. 

You remember at Corinth the oaolo on high, 
Careening and circling in sulphurous smoke, 

When the Minie- balls followed his flight to the sky, 
To the hour when the rebels retreated and broke. 

How his notes stirred the hearts of our glorious band. 

And his wing- led to triunii)h tiiat thrilled all the land. 

We have heard from the lips of the boys of the Eighth 
That he bore a charmed life in the van of the fight. 

At the capture of Vicksburg, where Grant kept the faith, 
And saluted the eagle that greeted his sight. 

Terhaps the strange bird knew Ulysses would be 

A leader revered from the lakes to the sea. 

Proud eagle ! Thy fame shall forever abide. 

When the centuries float from the nuiin - land of time; 

Ay, live while the ages at anchorage ride, 

Till the clocks of the world peal millennial chime. 

Thy mission was noble, thy record is great. 

Enshrined in the love of the bold Badger State. 



THE SLAVE'S PRAYER. 

We had tramped through field and forest, 

O the long and dreary way ! 
With the stars alone to guide us, 

For we dared not move by day — 

Jack and I, two Union soldiers, 
Just escaped from prison -shed, 

Squalid, ghastly, shoeless, starving, 
And no place to ask for bread ; 

Swiitjming rivers deep and swollen, 
Crossing mountains grim and dark, 

Wading marshes, crouched in thickets, 
Trembling at the blood - hound's bark. 

O the chill nights marched in silence, 
As the weeks crept slowly past ; 

Leagues away the Union army, 

Where we dreamed of rest at last. 

Jjut our strength was wellnigh broken, 
When, one night, the Lord be praised ! 

Ilight before us, through the pine-trees. 
Suddenly a camp -fire blazed. 

Straight we turned, but stayed our footsteps, 

As upon the evening air 
Came the gentle, broken accents 

Of a heartfelt, earnest prayer. 



92 Old Homestead Poems. 

Drawing nearer through the shadows, 
Creeping close from tree to tree, 

There a wliite- haired slave was kneeling, 
Asking God for liherty. 

And his words were sweet and touching 
As the first prayer of a child, 

And it seemed that God's own presence 
Filled the forest vast and wild. 

And the " Amen " that he uttered 
Seemed to echo throuo:h the trees; 

But it might have been our voices, 
For he started from his knees, 

And he glanced in fear about him, 
And his look was wild with fright. 

"Save us! we are Union soldiers; 
"We implore your help to-night. 

'' Tell us, M'here's the Union army V 
And we stood before him there, 

"Wan and ghost -like, hardly human. 
Haggard phantoms of despair. 

Then we sat and told our story 
While he served his simple food. 

And the moaning pines above us 
Whispered low in plaintive mood. 

And the midniirht stars were shining: 
Ere we rose to take our way, 

And we knelt — we all were brothers — 
As he bowed again to pray. 

From that heart by bondage broken, 
From that son of toil and pain, 

Rose a prayer more true and tender 
Than 1 e'er shall hear as^ain. 



The Slave s Prayer. 



93 




CROSSING MOUNTAINS GRIM AND DARK. 

And throngliont tlie weary marches, 

Through long niglits of care and fear, 

Those sweet words were ever with ns, 
Filling both our hearts with cheer. 



And we reached tlie Union Army, 

And we told our story there, 
And the "boj's" were hushed and breathless 

As we gave that old slave's prayer. 



KINDNESS. 

DEDICATED TO MRS. JAMES A. GARFIELD. 
{Read at Hiram College, Ohio, 1885.) 

The fountain gives birth to tlie stream, 

The stream glides on to the sea ; 
The sun looks down, and its beam 

Lifts moisture to gladden the lea ; 
The hills and the mountains rejoice, 

The valleys with deep verdure lined; 
One chorus the elements voice — 

With love every law is entwined. 

The rose leans over the brook, 

And blushes its beauty to trace ; 
The waters, entranced in a nook, 

Delight in the glow of its face. 
Then onward through grasses and ferns 

The rill laughs at stones in its waj' ; 
New charm to the woodland returns, 

The mosses are jewelled with spray. 

There is nothing that lives to itself. 

Be it ever so near or so far, \ 

From the weed on the sea's coral shelf 

To the fleck of the farthermost star ; 
No atom removed or estranged. 

No minute divorced fi'om the hours, 
Blind force is to sympathy changed. 

And each link is enwoven with flowers. 



Kindness. 



95 




"THE STREAM GLIDES ON TO THE SEA." 

No life is so strong and complete 

But it yearns for the smile of a friend 
A remembrance is always more sweet 

When love and kind wishes attend. 
Your red -lipped roses still speak, 

Your blossoms, carnation and white — 
But alas ! mj tribute is weak ; 

I bring but a pansy to-night — 



To fade ; but j^our garlands remain, 
Unwithered 3'our chaplet survives; 



g6 Old Homestead Poems. 

No deed can be idle or vain 

That strengthens or sweetens our lives ; 

And richer the token to nie 

From the dear abna mater of one 

Revered from the lakes to the sea, 
Your lover and brother and son. 

His life has flowed down to the deep, 

His record enriches the earth. 
And memory's roses shall keep 

Their bloom where the stream had its birth. 
The voice of onr Garfield is still, 

But the word of the man cannot die; 
His courage our pulses enthrill, 

Our dreams to his manhood reply. 



WENDELL PHILLIPS. 

He raised his voice — the scornful smiled, 
A jeering rabble came to hear ; 

The statesman mocked, the mob reviled, 
Pulpit and press gave little cheer. 

He raised his voice — the scoffer frowned, 
Disciples gathered day by da}'; 

In him the living "Word was found. 

The light, the life, the truth, the way. 

lie raised his voice — the crowded hall 
Answered to eloquence and right ; 

And statesmen heard at last the call 
Of freemen rising in their might. 

He raised his voice — the shackles fell, 
And all beneath the stars were free. 

Ring out! ring out, centennial bell, 
The living fact of liberty ! 



LONGFELLOW. 

Again I see him on the sunlit lawn, 

As in the May - day of that final year, 
With brow as radiant as the early dawn, 

And eye transparent as the heavens clear. 
With cloak o'er shoulder thrown in careless grace, 

He stands enframed in budding flowers and trees, 
A genial Orpheus, with Olympian face 

Forever fanned by pure Arcadian breeze. 
Ah, more to me than Prospero's magic isle 

The paths and greensward where the poet dreamed ; 
The opening blossoms wooed his kindly smile, 

The expectant flowers with richer colors gleamed. 
My soul still clasps the warm and generous hand 
Which wields the sceptre of a kingless land. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 

Once more upon the Frith of Clyde, 
Once more upon the dancing sea ; 
From out the land-locked harbor wide 

Our Anglia sails right merrily. 
Old Arran rises on our right, 
Her mountains bathed in sunset light ; 
While toward the coast the vision turns. 
And rests upon the Land of Burns. 

The western sky is all aglow; 

The headlands bold are touched with light ; 
liefiected beauty sleeps below, 

Upon the waters pure and bright. 
It seems indeed a fitting eve 
Of Scotia dear to take our leave. 
And in a sunset hour so fair 
To bid "good -night" to Bonnie Ayr. 

But now the mountains lose their gold, 
And to the leeward sink from view ; 

The distant coast can scarce be told — 
A line upon the ocean blue ; 

On Ailsa Craig and Rathlin Isle 

A single cloud attempts to smile; 

And toward the coast the vision turns 

In vain, to find the Land of Burns. 

Ruins and shrines where memories sleep 
We leave behind on every side ; 

Dumbarton's walls and frowning keep, 
Which shield the beauty of the Clyde ; 



lOO 



Old Homestead Poems. 

Dnnediii, darling of the North, 
Whose castle guards the winding Forth, 
And countless others, old and gray, 
Between the silver Tweed and Tay ; 

Sweet Ellen's Isle in beauty framed, 
lona's shrine and dark Glencoe, 

Fair Melrose, and that valley famed 

Where Ettriek, Tweed, and Yarrow flow- 




THE BRIG O' DOON. 



They all come back this summer eve, 
As we of Scotia take our leave ; 
But more than all fond memory turns 
And rests on Ayr, the home of Burns. 



For there the " Daisy " was uptorn, 
To blossom on a wider field : 



The Land of Burns. i o i 

And there the " Mousie," kindred born, 

Was first to poesie revealed. 
The land of "Auld Lang Syne" is there, 
The cotter's home, the evening prayer: 
To these, in truth, the menioiy turns — 
To these, which make the Land of Burns. 

And there his genius, Coila's maid. 

In middle furrow stayed his plough, 
And left her lustrous mantle plaid. 

And bound the holly round his brow; 
And there love met the ploughman bard, 
Ere life to kim seemed " luckless starred ;" 
And there most glorious hopes were born, 
Ere "Mary" from his heart was torn. 

He felt " misfortune's cauld nor'-west," 

And saw that " man was made to mourn ;'' 

The "Scarlet Letter" on his breast 
Was never in concealment worn. 

With all his failings, he was free 

From shadow of hypocrisy ; 

In grief he always felt the thorn, 

But boldly answered scorn with scorn. 

It seemed his mission to bestow 

On humble things the highest worth ; 
The streams that by his "shieling" flow 

Ripple in song o'er all the earth. 
The little Kirk of Alio way 
Shines forth immortal in his lay, 
And, filled with witches, takes its stand, 
The ruin of his storied land. 

He hears the " Twa Dogs " at his door 

Discuss the ways of human life ; 
He meets with " Death " upon the moor. 

With whom old "Hornbook" was at strife; 



I02 



Old Homestead Poems. 

He talks familiar with the "Deil," 
As if he were a friendly ehiel ; 
And '• IIolj Fair" upon the green 
Becomes a Sunday '' Halloween." 

He dared to use the pointed quill, 

While others bowed the knee to power; 




"DARK GLEKCOE." 



And Scotland owes a guerdon still 

To Burns, who left her fairest dower. 
It was his wish, ""for Scotland's sake, 
Some useful plan or book to make ;" 
And evermore the pilgrim turns 
To Scotia deal", the Land of Burns. 



The Land of Burns. 

The land of heatli and sliagory wood 
To him was bathed in roseate light ; 

He knew each spot where heroes stood, 
And dared to battle for the right. 

True heroes of the olden time, 

Whose names still ring in freedom's chime, 

And make e'en strangers fondly turn 

Unto the field of Bannockburn. 

His " Scots wha hae " rings out more clear 

Than any song in field or camp; 
And others rise more trne and dear — 

"The rank is but the guinea -stamp," 
For tiiere are grander fields to fight, 
Where man proclaims his brother's rio-ht : 
And Burns of poets leads the van 
In simple truth — that man is man. , 

That little "cottage" thatched with straw 
Still speaks the truth he loved to sinf>- : 



103 




"THAT LITTLE 'COTTAGE' THATCHED WITH STRAW." 



I04 



Old Homestead Poems. 



A glorious manliood free to a', 

Wliicli titles could not take or bring. 
Mansions of rank are poor indeed 
Beside this cotter's lowly shed, 
And pride is humbled as it turns 
To cross the porch of Robert Burns. 




' ' FOR THERE THE ' DAISY ' WAS UPTORN. " 



TO A PICTURE OF MARY STUART. 

When I do note the beaut}' of thine eyes. 

And think that they have long been sightless dust; 
When I observe the warrior's envied prize — 

Helmet and corselet — thick with yellow rust ; 
When scutcheoned doors lie prone in castle halls, 

And turrets totter, razed by ruthless Time ; 
When panelled brass from stately column falls, 

Well -graved with praises writ in lofty rhyme — 
Then I perceive how all things here decay; 

That tliis wide world is but a shifting stage, 
Where faith and love, fierce pride and passion, play, 

And narrow lines divide the fool and sage ; 

Where fame's brief candle flickers to its death, 
And beauty's reign is measured by a breath. 



A EALLY. 

{For the Scottish Games at Lyndonville, Caledonia County, TV., July 4, 1884.) 

The ITiglilandei'S come in their gay plaided tartan, 

The music of Scotia floats free on the air ; 
Come over, brave lads, from Barnet and Barton, 

From Melndoe's Falls and St. Johnsbury fair. 
Come over and witness the games of a nation 

Whose prowess is noted in story and song ; 
We'll furnish yon all a fine "muscle" collation — 

Come over, and bring your fair cousins along. 

Our fathers who came here were fresh from the heather, 

Our county still bears the old name of the Gael ; 
So up wi' the bonnet and bonnie blue feather. 

Sit down by our table and eat of our kail. 
Welcome, ay welcome, dear clansmen and brithers ! 

Hark to the bagpipe, and answer the ca' ; 
Come wi' your wives, your sisters, and mithers, 

We'll meet you and greet you, and welcome you a' ! 

Come from the valleys, the hills, and the mountains ; 

Gather as gathered your fathers of old — 
From clear northern lakes and bright crystal fountains, 

The half of whose beauty has never been told. 
Rally, like true, loyal Scottish descendants, 

Over the Border, and answer the ca' ! 
And twine round this day of Supreme Independence 

The bluebell, the heather, the thistle and a' ! 




'.SIT IHJWX liY OUR TABL?: AND EAT OP OtJR KAIL. 



THE PIONEERS. 

{Bead at the One Hundredth Anniversary of the Scotch Settlers at De Funiak Springs. 

Florida, 1886.) 

From lands of sunrise far away, 

From Jural cliffs, from Caspian shore, 

Froin Scythian deserts waste and gra}-. 
From rose -decked Persia's floral flooi', 

One race has kept the western trail — 

The bonnie, braw, warm-hearted Gael: 

The sturdy Gael who came from far, 

Led onward by the morning -star. 

By many a stream their footsteps strayed, 
From Indus to the Elbe and Rhine, 

Before their ruddy children pla)'ed 
By Bonnie Doon or crystal Tyne. 

The music of Arabian rills 

Finds echo in old Scotia's hills ; 

The Oriental thread remains 

In warp and woof of Gaelic strains. 

Onward and onward year by year. 

By Thracian fields, by Bosporus straits. 

Through stormy seas their barks they steer 
Beyond Gibraltar's frowning gates : 

Impelled to seek the farthest shore 

Before their wanderings are o'er, 

Still onward, till before them lie 

The Orkneys and the Isles of Skye. 



no 



Old Homestead Poems. 








"fS^^^ 



TO BLEAK lONA S PEBBLED STUAND. 

They came — the pioneers of truth — 

To bleak lona's pebbled strand, 
Bright guardians of fair Albion's youth, 

The founders of a noble band ; 
From out whose loins sprang martyrs brave, 
AVho gave their all their faith to save — 
The men who faced a living lie. 
And for God's glory dared to die. 



They came — the pioneers of song, 

Of courtly grace and minstrel art, 
With lyric fire that slumbers long. 

Then bursts like Etna's liquid heart, 
And overflows the human bounds 
Of thought with sweet seraphic sounds : 
Like notes that stray from realms above- 
Electric sparks of Heavenly love. 



The Pioneers. 1 1 \ 

They came — fair freedom's pioneers, 

]^or cared for king nor tyrant's frown ; 

No nobler record through the years 

Since Gideon's sword was lianded down. 

They saw the individual man 

In Celtic sept, in Highland clan, 

And from their hill - tops floated free 

The thistle-down of liberty. 

The " bairn," beside whom Ilagar wept, 

Ordained a hardy race to rear, 
Uncradled, but by angels kept — 

A motherhood forever near ; 
The archer lad of deserts wild 
Anticipates the Gaelic child, 
And leads our souls on fancy's wing 
From Paran's fount to Fillan's spring. 

O Gaelic fathers, yours and mine. 

Who came from lands beyond the sea, 
Eejoicing still in Auld Lang Syne, 

We bow to thee with reverend knee ! 
Proud of thy faith and lofty fame. 
Proud of eacii bright and honored name. 
Our hearts respond with rapturous thrill — 
"Hail to the chief!" Clan Alpine still! 

And here's a hand by Funiak Spring, 

To Macs and Campbells all in line, 
And all that Gaelic love can bring 

Unto this bright and crystal shrine ! 
While Katrine's lapsing waters smile. 
And kiss the sands of Ellen's Isle, 
So long will loyal hearts beat true 
Beside De Fuuiak's waters blue. 



A STAR -EYED DAISY. 

SAN MARCO, ST. AUGUSTINE. 
( Tri-centennial Anniversary, 1886. ) 

Ensigns of empires flaunt tlij flanking wall, 
Grim ancient warders guard thy storied gate, 
Loud Babeled centuries at thy bastions wait 

On Spanish, French, and Englisli seneschal. 

Rich yellow folds of Castile's haughty state. 
Fair Fleur de Lys from proud Parisian hall, 
St. George's Cross triumphant o'er them all, 

Hecall long years of fierce and bloody hate. 

But now the star -eyed daisy lifts its form 

From crevice, chink, and crumbling parapet, 

AVithout one stain of battle's crimson storm 
On snowy leaf with golden petal set : 

Bright banneret which Nature kindly rears, 
To deck with light the mould of bitter years. 



A TENNESSEE TOAST. 

{Bead at Monteagle Assembly, Monteagle, Tenn., 1884.) 

Once more on the green - crested mount, 
Where the breezes of summer blow free, 

I drink from thy clear -flowing fount 
A wassail, Monteagle, to thee. 

I come with a pledge and a toast. 

In response to your welcome to me, 

As a guest to a warm - hearted host — 
Here's a " health " to old Tennessee ! 

Drink deep ! for the grasp of your hand 
Eemembered and treasured shall be ; 

Your Cumberland Mountains shall stand 
As brothers and cousins to me. 

They seem like my own Highland ridge, 

Where the Hudson flows down to the sea, 

Whose sunsets the distance shall bridge. 
And remind me forever of thee. 



THE CLUB OF TAHAWAS. 





"once moke on the shore of the upper atjsable. " 

Once more on the shore of the Upper Ausable 
We gather to-nio^ht — the " Ktiio-hts of the Table," 
With purple -peaked mountains above and below us, 
To drink to the "health" of the Club of Tahawas. 



Unloosen the knapsack, and ring out a chorus 
To brothers and friends who have been hei'e before us ; 
With greeting to streamlet and cascade that know us, 
We miuijle our souir with the voice of Tahawas. 



The Club of Tahawas. \ i r 

The clan -word is sounded, the camp-fires are burning; 
Tahawas! Tahawas! jour sons are returning. 
Hark! hear the response! ay, the Gotliics liurrah us. 
And welcome their children, the Club of Tahawas. 

It Avas here we were reared in our earliest childhood, 
In Panther- Gorge Lodge— darkest glen of the wildwood, 
In deep forest shadows ere "Mountain Phelps" saw us: 
A pledge, bojs, to Sky -light, high -priest of Tahawas. 

Three cheers and a tiger! Hurrah for the mountains! 
For Golden and Feldspar— the Hudson's clear fountains! 
Love's loadstone magnetic forever shall draw us 
To bow in thy worship, wide -ruling Tahawas! 

There is drouth in our canteens, ye knights of blue flannel ; 
Dip full to the brim from the pebble- white channel; 
Then up with the cup, and— "May catamounts claw us 
The day we forget thee, dear Club of Tahawas!" 



AN ISLAND FANCY. 

(Read at the Island Park Astsemhly, Island Park, Ind., 1885.) 

Which is the fairest of Shakespeare's girls — 

The brightest, the dearest of all his train, 

That shook to the breeze their dancing curls 

In the sweetness and spring- tide of beauty's reign? 
Shall I answer you ? Portia, in Belmont's bower ? 
Or fair Imogen in her Warwick tower ? 
Dear Jessica, Rosalind, Isabel ? 
Nay, answer yourself ; I cannot tell. 

But which would you name for your wedded choice ? 

Pray, which would you marry ? tell me that : 
Cordelia true, with her gentle voice ? 

Sweet Anne Page, in her Stratford hat ? 
Fond Juliet, gazing at trembling stars 
From balcony, casement, and lattice bars ? 
Would you rather be her Romeo, 
Or somebody's else ? I hardly know. 

For I like the moonlight on Belmont's bowers, 

And the Annies that wander by Avon -stream, 
And the maiden of Warwick's cloud-capped towers, 

And the Capulet gardens where lovers dream. 
But which would I marry ? Which w^ould you ? 
First tell me the rainbow's loveliest hue. 

Ah ! life would be of Heaven a lease 
With Yiola, Celia, or Beatrice. 

But answer me truly ! Well, dearer than all, 
Than Perdita, Hero, or Hermione, 



All Island Fancy. 



119 




"and TIIK ANNIES THAT AVANDER BY AVON - STREAM." 

Is lovely Miranda in Prospero's hall, 

In bright sunny island far out in the sea : 

Miranda the peerless, the sweetest, the best, 

In magical island far out in the west. 

Where waves break in beauty on sun -tinted strand- 
If I am mistaken, then ask Ferdinand. 



Which is the fairest of all who came 

At the word of the conjurer, Walter Scott? 

Princess and lady of titled name. 
Lassie and maiden of lowly lot? 



1 20 Old Homestead Poems. 

Editli Plantagenet, rojal by birth ? 
Catherine Glover, the fair maid of Perth? 

Brave Jennie Deans, with her eloquent prajer? 

Eveline Beringer, Constance or Clare? 

Which would I marry ? Edith of Lorn ? 

Rose of Bradwardine, gentle and mild? 
Brave Alice Bridgnorth, Puritan born ? 

Or bright Alice Lee, the Cavalier's child? 
Rebecca, Rowena, or Julia the fair? 
Edith Bellenden, with King Charles's chair? 

Saxon or Norman or Jewess? Ah me! 
Thrice happy to win any one of the three. 

But is there no choice? "Well, dearer to me 

Than Flora Mclvor of lineage high. 
Than Bertha, who sailed over many a sea 

To find her bold Hereward 'neath sunnier sky ; 
Than Robert's Brenhilda of Normandy's soil, 
Or the radiant daughters of bluff Magnus Troil — 

Fair Brenna and Minna who dwelt by the sea, 
There is one of the "Galaxy" dearer to me. 

Ay, dearer than all who have passed in review, 
Than heart - broken Amy or sweet Eveline, 
Than hoyden Die Vernon, with eyes gray or blue, 

Is true Ellen Douglas of bonnie Katrine; 
And sunlight and moonlight in transport shall smile 
For years, ay, forever, on fair Ellen's isle. ' 

Ah, happy that island to bear her sweet name ! 
If I am mistaken, then ask Malcolm Graeme. 

Which is tlie best of Chautauqua's girls — 

The sweetest, the loveliest daughter of all, 
From the wavelet that plays over India's pearls 

To the gate -way that arches South Framingham's liall ? 
Is it Ottawa, Kansas, by Marais des Cygnes? 
Or Lakeside, Monona — pray which is the queen ? 
Waseca, Monteagle, De Funiak Lake? 
Sweet visions of beauty — say, which would you take ? 



A 71 Island Fancy. 



121 




"THE FAIREST, THE BRIGHTEST, THE SWEETEST IS HERE. 



Do jou tell me the answer is easy and clear? 

(There's logic in all things, and should be in this.) 
The fairest, the brightest, the sweetest is here — ■ 

There must be an island for absolute bliss. 
You spoke of Miranda's and fair Ellen's — hark! 
Did I hear some one mention the name "Island Park?" 
An island enchanted, in loveliness set — 
You may be mistaken — ask Doctor Gillet. 



TULIPS. 

Where grows tlie flower, and wliat's its name, 
That blooms in winter and summer the same? 
The language of which some saj is true, 
Some say is false ; now what say you ? 

Pray sing not of florals that wither and fade 
When crimson and gold on the woodlands are laid, 
And Autumn unfurls on the deep mountain -side 
His banners rich -woven and brilliantly dyed. 
One flower, and one only, earth's frost never nips 
On hill -side or valley — the sweet two -lips. 

In fairest of gardens, in nooks growing wild. 
In cold Arctic climes where the rose never smiled. 
Where bright waters flow, where soft breezes blow, 
In lands that are wrapped in perpetual snow. 
They bloom in rich beauty, for sunlight or shade 
Despoils not their sweetness, nor makes them to fade 
And, furthermore, reader, this also is true — 
Whenever they're pressed they blossom anew. 



A HOLLAND BRICK. 

FROM THE OLD REI^SSELAER HOUSE, GREENBUSH, N. Y. 

O JOLLY brick, with kindlj wrinkled face, 
With rndd}'- cheek and hospitable look, 

B}' Knickerbocker you shall have a place, 

And on my mantle stand, my quaintest book. 

Epitome of hearty, happy days, 

When even bricks were lionest, good, and trne ; 
A gentle humor o'er your visage plays — 

With lieart and hand I gladly welcome you. 

For, truth to tell, I like old Holland well. 

As did my sires e7i route to Plymouth Eock ; 

A\, Dutch Reformed pealed ont tlie wedding- bell- 
My better half 's from good old Holland stock. 

Her thanks with mine for cherished antique gift; 

It comes fire -proof, to Holland lovers pat; 
Vin glad it's heavier than my wife can lift. 

And just too big to fit my Sunday hat. 



PARIS TO HELEN. 

Imperial beaut}', born for Ilium's blight ; 

Sweet, winsome Helen, paragon of earth ; 
Would that our flocks were still on Ida's heiglit, 

And princely halls uneniptied of their niirtli! 
Alas ! proud Troy is tottering to her fall ; 

Our promised joys are steeped in bitter pain ; 
Kinsmen and Greek in deep derision call, 

And every eye speaks loathing and disdain. 
Dear bribe of Yenus ! why were we beguiled 

By Cyprian words to walk in devious ways, 
And leave our names as synonymes reviled 

Forevermore through unforgiving days? 
O fruitless passion, won at honor's cost ! 
Faith, couriige, glory — all forever lost. 



TO B. T. VINCENT. 

{Bead at the Lakeside Assembly, Lakeside, Ohio, 1883.) 

Feom village homes and rustling trees, 
From city walls and marts of trade, 

From fields that whisper to the breeze. 
We meet beneath this woodland shade. 

From distant States, from many a land, 
From realms reflecting India's snn. 

Before one common shrine we stand. 

Where truth and faith and hope are one. 

With joyful heart and open hand 

We welcome you from o'er the sea ; 

Each breaking wave on Lakeside's strand 
Unites to-day in greeting thee. 

We know that w^ords are idle all 

To speak what every heart would say, 

For over all this rustic hall 

The "lilies" bloom for you to-day. 

Our lifted hands with loving cheer 

From heart to heart the message pass ; 

Our eyes, between a smile and tear, 
Become the soul's reflecting glass ; 

And hark ! above the beating wave, 
Above our broken, fleeting rhyme, 

The bells peal out an anthem brave. 

And sweetly chant your fiftieth chime. 



126 



Old Homestead Poems. 




"each breaking wave on lakeside's strand." 



They wish you joy and hope and peace, 
Their trembling lips our hearts express, 

In music sweet that shall not cease, 

But blend with Heaven's own happiness. 



TO J. H. WARREN, 

SUPERINTENDEXT OF MONTEAGLE ASSEMBLY, MONTEAGLE, TENN. 

I've often thonglit, throngbont the year, 
Of you and of your "witie" dear; 
So I was glad once more to liear 

Your " Come again ;" 
And I'll be there, you needn't fear, 

By early train. 

I'll bring along sweet Irving's dreams, 

Yosemite's bright dashing streams, 

The Trosachs wild where Katrine gleams ; 

And I have knit 
A lot of stories in the seams 

Of " Ready Wit." 

I think you'll like the bonnie crew. 
The visions bright with morning dew, 
The legends old, the stories new, 

Drawn up in line, 
And greet them all with welcome true. 

For Auld Lang Syne. 

I knew the tojDics must be grand 
To fit your noble mountain -stand. 
So I have looked on every hand 

For subjects high. 
To suit your famed Monteagle - land 

So near the sky. 

I'd like to come your opening day. 
And would, if I could have my way; 



1 28 Old Homestead Poems. 

But I'm a thousand miles away, 

With no balloon 
To float me through the morning gray 

Like witch o' Doon. 

I'd risk a Tam o' Shanter ride, 
With Nannie flitting at my side, 
Above the kirks and mountains wide. 

To see you all, 
And leave my Meggie safely tied 

In Warren's stall. 

But locomotion through the stars 
On broomstick steeds and tilting bars 
Has been transferred to dusty cars ; 

The niore's the pity : 
The witches all were sent to Mars 

From Salem City. 

So I must take the modern way — ■ 
Five cents a mile in Pullman's gay ; 
Or, better still, if you will, pray 

Please send a pass ; 
The witches had the deil to pay. 

With cheek of brass. 

Since last I met you I have seen 
A hundred hills in crystal sheen, 
A thousand fields of waving green 

Bound up in sheaves. 
And tints that crown Columbia queen 

Of golden leaves. 

And now with news from Lakeside fair, 
From bright Waseca's bracing air. 
From Island Park, sweet nestled there 

In Hoosier State, 
From Kansas fields, beyond compare, 

With promise great; 



To J. H. Warren. 129 

From Lake de Funiak's land of pine, 
From sweet Monona's crystal shrine, — 
All tendrils of Chautauqua's vine, 

And loving feast, 
I come, Monteagle dear, to thine. 

Last, but not least : 

To rich dessert in camp and hall. 
The closing banquet of them all. 
Before the Autunm curtains fall 
On Summer's life. 



(postscript.) 

This isn't writ to you at all. 
But to your wife. 



TO BOB BURDETTE. 

ON READING HIS LINES ENTITLED "TEAMSTER JIM." 

You struck right at the moral, Bob, a shoulder -hitting blow, 
And knocked the stuffin' squarely out of twaddlin' " 'Ostler Joe." 
You opened Truth's dividers wide, and drew a decent ritn 
Around ten thousand hearth - stones like that of "Teamster Jim." 

You got us all excited, Bob ; we sat and braced our feet, 
Just wondering what would happen next unto the great elite, 
Who know the line exactly where people shouldn't gush. 
And carry fans convenient in case they need to blush. 

I wish you could have seen us, Bob, all waiting to be shocked. 
With eyebrows slightly lifted and proud lips closely locked. 
As the reader gave the title, version - thirdly of the kind 
That squeezes out love's sweetness and hankers for the rind. 

The first and second stanzas showed you on the proper track. 
To harrow up our feelings on the sentimental rack ; 
The third one had 'em married, and we saw you knew the rules 
When you introduced the Teamster with his four Kentucky mules. 

Then the plot began to thicken, all was happiness and glee. 
And a darling precious baby cooed and played on Maggie's knee. 
Every day brought richer blessings, sweeter than the day before, 
And the lilacs shed their fragrance over "Jim the Teamster's" door. 

Then you should have heard a twitter from a group with shoulders bared. 
That the public had "some feelings" which they thought were better 
spared ; 



To Bob Bu7'dette. i^i 

But a cruel cynic muttered: "While 'full-dress' is all the go, 
I don't see the 'arm of whimpering over ' Jim ' or ' 'Ostler Joe.' " 

Then we got excited, Robert, as the end was drawing near, 
When Jim or Maggie, or the mules, w^ould get up on their ear; 
For we thought that you were "holding" just to take another trick, 
As you brought the little children a -piling in so thick. 

Well, it was a curious picture in that mansion on the hill. 
And we somehow heard "Jim" praying, for the room was very still; 
Then from out the silence stealing came an old familiar air: 
Was it Maggie, or the angels, in the cottage over there? 

And so we sat and waited for the shocking to begin ; 
But there wasn't room for blushes, or a place to put them in-^ 
Till at length it dawned upon us we had all been richly sold : 
We were looking out for copper, and we struck a mine of gold. 



WASECA. 

AN INDIAN LEGEND. 
(Bead at the Waseca AssemUy, Waseca, Minn. , 1886.) 

Lost in the forest — three maidens fair — 

Lost in the wild woods, dark and deep — 
Wandering hopelessly here and there, 

Through tangled thickets where shadows sleep. 
Is there no refuge? at last they crv — 
Mercy or hope in the starlit sky ? 

They had come from far in that early day, 

Ere the plough had opened this Northern land, 
And had wandered off and lost their way — 
Lost in an hour from their little band. 
Ko answer came to their earnest call — ■ 
Silence and darkness over all. 

On through the midnight they hold their way, 

Praying that angels may be their guide; 
Suddenl}', gleaming, before them lay 
A lake with outlook of beauty wide ; 

And their hearts grew calm as the waters bright, 
Serenely sleeping in soft moonlight. 

It seemed more human than forest dark, 

This strip of the sky to earth let down. 
Again awoke life's glimmering spark 

From hope's dead ashes, cold and brown ; 

And they dreamed of the lake their childhood knew, 
The rock - bound Minnewaska blue. 



Waseca. 1^3 

But see ! on the ripples a twinkling light, 

Steadily gliding along the shore ; 
Nearer and clearer it grows more bright 
With rhythmical swing of sweeping oar; 
And there came in accents soft and low 
A melody sweet as a brooklet's flow. 

What shall they do in their hour of fear? 
Is peril or help in that flickering ray ? 
Strange was the music to Saxon ear 
As it gently floated and died away; 

But they felt that love, and love alone, 
Was the burden of words to them unknown. 

Sweetly rose from the wanderers there 

" Jesus, lover of my soul," 
Full and deep as a burdened prayer, 
" While the nearer waters roll." 

The rower listened, then straightway came, 
And in broken English asked their name. 

'Twas an Indian maid in birch canoe. 

Brought to their rescue that summer night ; 
Her father a chief of the haughty Sioux, 

Who claimed the land as their nation's riffht. 
She said her brothers would guide their way, 
And find their band at the break of da}'. 

She gave them then a history strange: 

How her mother came from the wooded shore 
Of a beautiful lake near the Erie range. 
Almost in sound of Niagara's roar. 

Chautauqua, she said, was her mother's name — 
A prophetess born to enduring fame. 

"She taught me the words which I heard you sing 

On the moonlit rock by the silent shore ; 
Her spirit guides me on angel's wing ; 

She sleepeth, but liveth forevermore; 



134 Old Homestead Poems. 

She learned the truth in her far-off home, 
Ere she came with this warlike tribe to roam, 

"She told me also a wonderful dream, 

But I know some day it will all come true — 
That thousands would gather bj lake and stream, 
Where wisdom's manna should fall like dew. 
Her name is to live in the years to be. 
Well known in the isles of the farthest sea. 

" She said that here was a chosen place — 

Waseca ! Waseca ! Charming name ! 
From out whose woodland should spring a race 
Known to the living voice of fame — 
Chautauqua's daughter, and I am she ; 
'Waseca' my mother christened me." 

Then she guided her charge through the sylvan way 

To her fatlier's camp for food and rest. 
And her brothers brought them at dawn of day 
To their broken band, and all were blest. 
This is the legend that I have heard, 
True to the letter, and every word. 

Where are the wanderers? Who can know? 

Or where the dark - haired Indian maid? 
Ah ! this was forty years ago, 

And the drama of life is strangely played. 
Whatever their lot, that forest dark 
Its prophecy keeps in Maplewood Park. 



"SHALL STAND WITH KINGS." 

{Bead at the Twenty-fifth Anniversary of Eastman Business College, Poughkeepsie, N. T., 

1884.) 

Fkom out the turmoil and the strife 

Of party clamor fierce and wide, 
From quiet homes and restful life, 

We gather here with honest pride. 

To note the hour, to mark the year, 

Our "Business College" had its birth, 

To emphasize with hearty cheer 
Our recognition of its worth ; 

To place the never-dying flowers 

Of love npon its founder's brow, 
To make his zeal and courage ours, 

Twin -words which still these walls endow; 

To stand beside the corner-stone. 

The base our Eastman laid so well, 
To note the work so ably done 

By you on whom his mantle fell ; 

To bring with warm and grateful hearts 
An offering from Poughkeepsie due — 

Queen City of a hundred marts, 

Midway between the mountains bine; 

Between the On - ti - o -ras grand, — 

The Catskills grouped like Titans old. 

And Highlands firm, whose Beacons stand 
To watch the morning tints unfold; 



1 36 Old Homestead Poems. 

Midway tlie Hudson's glorious tide 

" Safe Harbor " — Apo - keep - sing reads — 

An anchorage sure, with outlook wide, 

Midway between your dreams and deeds. 

From vigorous youth to manhood bold 
Your college passes now to-night, 

Its twenty -live years proudly told 
In living letters clear and bright. 

It turns tlie quarter -flag and post 

With bounding strength and quickening pace, 

While sturdy shout and valid boast 
Proclaim it foremost in the race. 

And you who form the present link 
Within this ever -lengthening chain, 

From far Sierra's mountain brink, 

From coral reefs to pine- clad Maine, 

From northern coast, from sunny lands, 
From Aztec cities old and gray, 

From Nicaragua's burning sands — 
You take no idle part to-day. 

You, too, are near your manhood's line. 
The quarter -post is also yours. 

Whereon tiiese words transparent shine — 
Unceasing toil success insures. 

There's room enough on every hand 

For men of muscle, brain, and nerve ; 

Supply ne'er met the loud demand 
Of honest}^ too high to swerve. 

The field you enter on is wide. 

You make the laws that statesmen frame, 

You hold secure the reins that guide 

The nation's course to power and fame. 



'"''Shall Stand with Kings T 137 

You lift the torch and bridge the stream 

Whereon with wonder centuries look ; 
You frame and sell the artist's dream, 

You bind and ship the poet's book. 

Through granite rocks you drive apace, 

Round mountain -peaks 3'onr girdles wind, 

Your desk and table span the space 
Between material and mind. 

You bring the coinage of the world 

To Lombard Street from India's sun, 
And France her proud tricolor furled 

To London's gold, not Wellington. 

"The man in business diligent 

Shall stand with kings" remaineth true; 

To Jewish wealth Napoleon bent — 
Rothschild was king at Waterloo. 

His word was " open sesame " 

To banker's vault and miser's hoard ; 
His signature proved literally, 

•• The pen is mightier than the sword." 

But in the race for power and fame, 

The eager striving for success, 
Mark this — true love and honest name 

Confer the onlj' happiness. 

The house that's founded on a wrong 

Is built and reared at fearful cost, 
And judgment falls, though waiting long, 

On honors gained by honor lost. 

Festina lente ! haste but wait ! 

Have patience though the hour -sands waste; 
It seems the paradox of fate 

To hold in check and bid us haste. 



138 Old Homestead Poems. 

Be bold, ay, bold, but not too bold, 
Is Sling again in verses new ; 

Despise not truths and maxims old, 
Be upright, faithful, firm, and true. 

Let conscience, trust, and rectitude 
Forever in your hearts abide. 

And ma}' Life's Book of debts accrued 
Find balance on the credit side ! 



GOD'S HEAETH- STONE. 

The evening fires are burning dim 
Along Chautauqua's western rim ; 
The embers of a dying day 
Are sinking in the ashes gray. 

We lay aside our toil and care, 

We bow to Thee in thankful prayer, 

That round Thy hearth - stone, wide and free. 

The world is all one family. 




"THE EVENING FIKES ARE BURNING DIM ALONG CHAUTAUQUA'S WESTERN REM. 

'Tis not in temples built by hands. 
Or written scrolls from far-off lands. 
But at the altars reared by Thee, 
We learn the truest liturgy. 



Thy voice was heard on Sinai's height, 
On Horeb's mountain veiled in night ; 



1 40 Old Homestead Poems. 

Thy voice is heard in every rill, 
Thy glory glows on every hill. 

Night speaks to night, day speaks to day ; 
Their world-wide language lives for aye; 
Their lines have gone through all the earth. 
The heavens declare Tliy matchless worth. 

So may Thy Word of Love more dear 
To every age and race appear, 
Until Time's narrow, restless sea 
Is hushed in Thy eternity. 

And O, may faith still deeper grow, 

Till peace from heart to heart shall flow ! 

Till all the world, each even -tide. 

Shall gather round Thy hearth -stone wide! 



THE EAGLE'S QUILL. 

Legend.— THE BEST PART OF THE AMERICAN EAGLE IS THE QUILL. 
(Read at the Twenty-fifth Anniversary of Coleman Business College, Newark, N. J., 1885.) 

I COME with a subject familiar to-night, 
Adapted for business or fanciful flight ; 
Esteemed by our fathers in fair days of old, 
Revered by their children — on silver and gold — 

The American Eagle, proud bird of the free ! 
With motto in beak, " Unum Pluribus E." 
With arrow and olive-branch firm in his claw. 
Believing in peace and believing in law ; 

Bright warden that jingles with musical chime 
On counter or tablet, in prose or in rhyme. 
The bird we are proud of wherever we roam, 
Clear -eyed as our fair "Jersey Lilies" at home. 

We are glad that the century finds him in health, 
Presenting at par the national wealth, 
And we've noticed whenever he opens his claws 
That the lion stops roaring and pulls in his paws. 

From the Tea Party held in Boston one day, 
To the race with Genesta on ocean and bay. 
The Eagle at times may have known how to brag, 
But, as usual, the Puritan carries the flag. 



142 Old Homestead Poems. 

The ship Alabama sailed out to the west, 
On business that wasn't considered the best, 
But Old England grew pale at the itemized bill 
Which our Evarts drew up with American quill. 

The Adamses, Hamiltons, Jeflfersons, Jays, 

Tiie Jacksons, Calhouns, the Websters and Clays, 

Who guided by word or conquered by will. 

Were always the greatest when handling the quill. 

From the day that the Mayflower unloaded her freight. 
To the last civil plank in the old Ship of State, 
The popular breeze jib and main -sail might fill, 
But the man at the helm was the man with the quill. 

For the passions of men, like the foam or the spray. 
Seethe loud for the moment, then vanish away. 
But the lines that grow brighter on history's page 
Are the words of the prophet, the statesman, and sage. 

The clamor of praise and the voice of the crowd 
Dissolve in the air — pass away as the cloud. 
But the stories of Homer and Stratford's " Sweet Will " 
Go down through the ages asserting the quill. 

The Platos, the Solons, and Blackstones survive 
The Forums' and Councils where advocates strive ; 
The lawyer may triumph through quiddit or flaw, 
But the Runyons and Kents always hand down the law. 

The Stephensons, Franklins, and Fultons were born 
When Bacon's " Organum " saluted the morn ; 
The telegraph's ticking, the telephone's trill. 
Are dashes from Morse's and Edison's quill. 

The " genii bottled " anticipate steam, 
Bartholdi interprets Aladdin's fair dream. 
And the ravens of Odin perch over the door 
Of the editor's room on the sky - garret floor. 



The Eagles Quill. 143 

We have right to be proud, for the record is fine ; 
And our Eagle proposes to flj on this line 
Until labor and honor go forth hand in hand, 
And the pen is the sceptre that rules every land. 

Yankee Doodle forever ! Columbia hail ! 
With banner at royal, and bunting on rail ; 
Write "Liberty" large, and work with a will 
To emulate Hancock's and Washington's quill. 

And this is the moral — remember it, boys ! 

It isn't entirely a question of noise ; 

The engine may shriek, and the whistle blow shrill, 

But the man at. the lever 's the man with the quill. 



THE MUSIC OF LIGHT. 

The joyous song of the morning stars 
The poet caught in the dawn of time ; 

He read the notes of the heavenly bars, 

Ilis soul was thrilled with the choral chime. 

Through mystic years the Egyptian heard 
From Memnon's statue a harp -like tone, 

And marvelled at the elusive word 
From raylit lips of lifeless stone. 

In Orphic and Homeric days 

The god of music was god of light, 

And strung Aurora's rhythmic rays 
Across the vibrant lyre of night. 

And savants now in the world's high noon 
The visions of olden times rehearse ; 

For rhythm of music and light are one, 
And science reflects the poet's verse. 



QUESTIONS. 

Whence, and whither, and what are we, 
Tossed on the billows of ceaseless strife 'i 

Where is the shore beyond the sea ? 

Where is the fountain of human life? 

Whence and whither ? Ah, all in vain 
We wait and listen. No tidings come ; 

Darkness and shadows still remain, 

The stars are silent, the earth is dumb. 

We question the years ; they answer naught 
Save this— from the void we also came. 

The circle widens of human thought, 
But life's horizon remains the same. 

We pick with lenses the flecks of light. 
We sift from Nebulae sun by sun, 

We mark and measure the comet's flight, 
We v/eigh the planets one by one : 

From lowest germ' to highest form 

We trace the links of Nature's cliain ; 

But what is life— this essence warm ? 
The same deep mysteries still remain. 

Like children who rap on an empty vault, 
And listen to hollow echoes there, 

Material science is still at fault — 

The tomb of Nature is cold and bare. 



10 



146 Old Homestead Poems. 

Like travellers lost in forest vast, 

Ketnrniiig and crossing their paths again, 

It reasons in circles, to find at last 

That it reaches the point where the quest began. 

Ah, fruitless search ! We learn no more ; 

The wisest sage no knowledge brings; 
No step returns from the silent shore; 

" Rounded with sleep " the poet sings ; 

"A narrow cape betwixt two seas," 

"•A swallow darting through the room," 

A leaf that flutters in the breeze, 
A moment's light, a ray less tomb ; 

Phantasmagoria, thing of a day. 

Born of the night, into darkness hurled. 

Cunning compound of breath and clay. 
Ashes and dust of a worn - out world : 

Flitting shadows on cosmic screens J 

Silhouettes thrown from a juggler's hand ! 

Phantom players in spectral scenes ! 
Is this the enigma to understand ? 

Or is there a breeze from the open sky 

That wakens the harp of a thousand strings ? 

A firm -built hope that a human sigh 

Is borne through ether on angels' wings? 

An inspiration that One is just. 

Who keeps the sparrow in Plis care? 

That this spark from Him, in a shell of dust, 
His love and goodness shall also share? 

A final rest for faltering feet. 

Weary and pierced with cruel wounds, 

Climbing to reach the golden street 
Up ladders made of brittle rounds? 



Questions. 

Questions answered by Faith alone, 

Not to be settled by words of strife; 

To be learned at last, to be fully known, 

When the key of death fits the wards of life. 



147 




"WHEKE IS THE SHORE BEYOND THE SEA?' 



THE INFINITE. 

With measuring lines we reach from star to star, 

On pinion bold we seek creation's rim, 
The vast horizon mocks us from afar 

With spliere on sphere beyond our vision dim ; 
On weary wing our thought, from voyage vain, 

Like that lone dove, with neither leaf nor bud, 
Returns to find the w^indowed ark again — 

A floating refuge on a shoreless flood. 
O mystery vast which veils the sovereign brow! 

O vergeless silence, depths by light untrod ! 
Space without centre! Time, eternal now! 

O star- gemmed vesture! Seamless robe of God! 
What word doth this vast Universe inthrall ! 
Bounded by nothing, yet embracing all. 



SHADOWS. 

Whispering wave and throbbing billow 
Gently rock themselves to sleep ; 

Mellow moonlight floods the heavens, 
Silver sheen illumes the deep. 





' ' SILVEK SHEEN ILLUMES THE DEEP, 

Ripples break in softest whispers 
Round the shallop's swarthy side ; 

Every star in yonder welkin 

Trembles on the trembling tide. 

Far away the listless topsail 
Dances on the silent sea; 

Here upon the quivering margin 
Shadowy shapes of you and me. 



I50 



Old Homestead Poems. 




"SHADOWY SHAPES OF YOU AND ME. 

Floating shadows, almost blended, 
Phantom forms that flit and flee, 

Would you dream those were our shadows 
Gliding o'er the glimmering sea? 

Blissful blendino; ! wave and moonlight, 
Radiant sky and boundless sea ; 

Why should we obtrude two shadows? 
One will do for you and me. 



So the shadows drew together, 
Mixed and melted into one; 

Just as if the silly shadows 

Didn't know 'twas said in fun. 



MY CHRISTMAS PRESENT. 

Talk of your Christmas presents, boys, 
Compared with mine .mere worthless toys ! 

Your slippers, gowns, and smoking -caps, 
Your tidies, scarfs, and worsted wraps, 

Are well enough, and doubtless show 
That more the giver might bestow ; 

But these are trifles matched with mine, 
Which Annie -mates this happy line. 

'Twas just by chance, the good old way, 
We met one merry Christmas -day — 

Exactly nineteen years ago. 

The ground, as now, was white with snow. 

The sky was clear, the stars shone bright, 
The sleigh-bells rang that joyous night; 

The oft -told story, ever new, 
Found welcome in her eyes of blue. 

Yes, Santa Claus was kind to me; 
And now, beside our Christmas-tree, 

We call to mind the golden prime 

That tuned our hearts to rhythmic chime. 

And wrote in letters fair to see, 
" True love is always poetry." 



152 Old Homestead Poems. 

Praj count those stockings red and small 
Now hanging on the chimney wall. 

You see how love at interest grows; 
We're richer than the tax -list shows. 

The best investment isn't stocks, 
Unless joii spell them briefly — "socks." 

Pin -cushioned dolls are well enoue-h. 
But give me hearts of solid stuff. 

Cold comfort has the weary head 
That rests on tidies pink or red. 

N^o scarf for me, but loving arm 

To keep the neck and shoulders warm. 

Let others have the smoking -cap. 
But give to me my Annie's lap. 

I envy not your costly gown 

While her dear eyes look kindly down. 

Drain dry your cups of bubbling bliss; 
Give me her "hinnied lips" to kiss. 

Old Time may make her tresses gray, 
But ne'er efface that Christmas -day. 

My stocking had been hung before 
On mantle -piece and chamber door, 

But Santa Claus here broke the rule — 
My present filled two stockings full. 



The moral, boys, is short and plain, 
Don't hang your stockings up again ; 



My Christmas Present. 



153 




we're richer than the tax-list shows. 

Froin long experience I know 
You'll never get a present so. 



Take my advice, look otherwhere, 
And find one in — another pair. 



WITCH-HAZEL LASHES. 

O HAZEL ej'es of witching power, 

And lashes sweet that wound my heart ; 

Still, as in childhood's tender hour, 
Witch - hazel lashes make me smart. 

O rosy cheeks, which Nature's hand 

Hath touched with her divinest grace ! 

Mine tingle too ; one small rattan 

In memory's seat still keeps its place. 

O tender lips, with roses wreathed, 
That part in sweetness and return ! 

The poet sings of thoughts that breathed ; 
I've felt, alas ! the lin«es that burn. 

O golden fleece of sunny hair. 

Which many a Jason fond would touch, 
Do not ensnare me, 'twon't be fair. 

For I've been braided — yes, too much. 

I'll dream no more of foreign strands. 
Those switches could a tale unfold — 

Perhaps were combed by other hands. 
As I was switched in days of old. 

And are those roses also naught ? 

Thy blushes false, like other pelf? 
Thy tongue, with silly language fraught, 

At last recalls me to myself. 



Wiich - Hazel Lashes. 



155 




/^^.^^ajJ 



"O HAZEL EYES OP WITCHING POWER." 



How many flies in sweetness stick, 
Youth only by experience learn, 

When boys we " lasses " used to lick, 
And we were all licked in return. 



A COAST SURVEY. 

Oh yes, I've seen your Boston girls, 
And anchored close to Cambridge curls ; 
But from Ches'peake 'way down to Maine 
There is no girl like Sarah Jane. 

What love -lit eyes! Twin beacons rare! 
What landscape cheeks! what wavy hair! 
Her mouth — a sort of inland sea, 
Her, smile — a whole Geograph}^ 

She is the bonniest, best -rigged lass 
From Sandy Hook to Hatteras ; 
And when she laughs her open face 
Looks like a sea-side watering-place. 

What joy to launch a gallant kiss 
Upon that tideless sea of bliss ! 
To start it off, and let it float 
To realms of sweetness far remote ; 

To navigate a whaling smack. 
Without a thought of getting back ; 
To drift unheeding day or night. 
Or drop, like Jonah, out of sight. 

And yet one seems to need a chart 
To find a port from which to start ; 
Her mouth is like Long Island Sound, 
It takes a week to go 'way round. 



A Coast Survey. 157 

And very few survive the trip, 
Especially round the upper lip ; 
A treacherous coast, where, all forlorn, 
Her nose protrudes — just like Cape Horn. 

Columbus thought, by sailing west, 
To find the Islands of the Blest, 
But had he ploughed this pathless sea 
He might have sailed eternally. 

The voyage may be safe and plain. 
But please excuse me, Sarah Jane; 
On second thought I'm in no haste 
To launch upon that boundless waste. 

So tempt me not; the sweetest kiss 
No sounding finds in that abyss. 
I'd rather float in Bafiin's Bay, 
Wiiile others make your coast survey. 



My Annie dear, you lift your eyes 
To ask me where the moral lies ? 
Ah, rose-bud mouth, well — if you please. 
There have been wrecks on smaller seas. 



JULIET TO ROMEO. 

One more fond kiss, my Romeo, and away ! 

The eastern hills are touched with rosy light. 
Ah love, with thee dun night is brightest day, 

And brightest day, when thou art gone, is night. 
How blest the hours swift -borne on starry wheels! 

How heavy waiting on the laggard sun ! 
A weary void till day her eyelids seals, 

And Heaven's high warders guard love's fortress won. 
Dear Romeo, go ! Yet I would have thee stay. 

O pilfering morn, that robs the jewelled skies! 
Purloining gems within thy mantle gray. 

Take all, but leave the one dear star I prize. 

Alas ! that love from love should ever part ; 
Yon sunrise brings wan sunset to my heart. 



ANTONY TO CLEOPATRA. 

My Cleopatra, queen, alas the day 

Thy lustrous eyes proclaimed such bitter doom ! » 
Tiiat shame and Antony should live for aye, 

An epitaph on Time's enduring tomb ! 
Soft -coiling serpent! Thy enticing wiles 

Hold heroes captive in strong toils of grace ; 
For power is lost in passion, as fond smiles 

Light up the matchless beauty of thy face. 
Cold duty summons ; but, enchantress fair, 

My courage melts beneath thy glowing eyes ; 
And in thine arms I neither reck nor care 

If Roman honor lives or basely dies. 

Let Fame's rich pearl dissolve in nectar bright ! 
Farewell to valor — day is lost in night. 



FERDINAND TO MIRANDA. 

MiKANDA mine, thy beauty is more rare 

Than May - day flowers that deck the meadows green ; 
Thy lips are sweeter than the lily fair 

Plucked fresh at dawn from out the glittering sheen ; 
The mantling color of thy cheek's bright hue 

Makes pale and shames the blood of damask -rose; 
Thine eye preserves the violet's pensive blue, 

Which, born of liglit, with Heaven's own color glows ; 
Thy neck, full sweet, seems like a flowery lane. 

Or garden pathway, to thy gentle breast, 
Where love, that knows not passion's earthly stain, 

Has dwelt alone and wished no other guest. 
Here Eden's flowers retain the morning dew, 
And sweeter seem united all in you. 



ANNIE. 



1849. 

When all the hills were rich with gold, 
And beauty bloomed on every tree, 

One darling more was in the fold, 
One treasure more upon the knee. 

1866. 

When all the fields were white with snow, 
And seventeen Autumns passed away, 

By Merry Christmas fireside glow 
We met that winter holiday. 

187-0. 

When all the fields were fresh and fair. 
And bird and brook were all in tune. 

Two hearts and hands were given there. 
That quiet, lovely day in June. 

188T, 

And so the seasons are but three. 

For Spring and Summer now are one ; 

And Winter only comes to me 

To mark the time of love begun. 



II 



MY CASTLE. 
I. 

The bill -tops are fair in the bright, cloudless day, 
The valleys are sweet with the blossoms of May ; 
I gaze from the cliff where my Castle shall stand — 
The grandest and proudest of all in the land; 

With turrets and columns of Parian white, 
Blocks seamless and clear as if quarried from light ; 
With portal wide open to high arching hall, 
And threshold emblazoning welcome to all. 

No outlook so varied, no structure so fair; 
Neither Norman nor Moorish witii mine can compare 
The dreams of all artists from over the sea 
Unite in one vision of beauty for me. 

The richest wood -carvings from many a land. 
The rarest of pictures are mine to command : 
Ah, dreamer, whose vessels have voyaged in vain, 
Come, visit my Castle from Castles in Spain. 

II. 

The glow on the hill -tops is fading away. 
The valleys, all garnered, are russet and gray; 
I gaze from the cliff where I stood the fair morn 
When the rose-tinted dream of my Castle was born. 

The turrets, tlie columns, the tapestries rare 
Have faded and melted like mist in the air — 
Impalpable, vain, mortised beams of moonshine! 
The sun never shone on that Castle of mine. 



My Castle. 163 

Ah, well, but the ground -plot and title are clear 
For others their Castles and mansiona to rear; 
While I keep in framework of old tarnished gilt 
The Castle of mine that never was bnilt. 

The fireside is bright in a dear cottage home, 

One chimney sufficing for turret and dome ; 

And, dreamer, your voyage has not been in vain 

If 3'ou find at some hearth -stone your Castle in Spain. 



A WANDERER. 

I HAVE wandered the wide world o'er, 
I have sailed over many a sea, 

But the land that I love more and more 
Is Columbia, the land of the free. 

From the east to the western shore, 
From the north to the southern sea, 
Columbia for me ! 

I have lingered in ivy -grown bowers, 

In minsters and palaces vast. 
Amid castles and crumbling towers 

Whose shadows backward are cast ; 
But the longed - for Atlantis is ours. 

And freedom intei-prets at last 
The dream of the past. 

The rivers of story and song, 

The Danube, the Elbe, and the Bhine, 
Entrance for a day, but I long 

For the dear old Hudson of mine ; 
The Hudson, where memories throng, 

AVhere love's fondest tendrils entwine, 
Of beauty the shrine. 

Like music entranced in a dream 

Glide the Afton, the Doon, and the Ayr; 
But the Jansen — the clear Jansen stream. 

In one heart shall their melody share; 
And my soul still reflects its bright gleam, 

For I played in my childhood there. 
When visions were fair. 



A Wanderer. 



165 




"I HAVE SAILED OVER MANY A SEA." 



I have licard the sweet chiming of bells, 
From the Seine to the Avon and Dee, 

But sweeter the anthem that swells 
From the pine -clad Sierras to me; 

And the Sabbath -like stillness that dwells 
In these mountains far np from the sea, 
Lake Tahoe with thee. 



1 66 Old Homestead Poems. 

I liave gathered sweet flowers in tlie west, 

Where the streams are embroidered with gold^ 

liiit the blossoms that I love the best 
Are those which I gathered of old. 

The same that 1113' mother's lips pressed, 
Their petals the sweetness still hold, 
Her heart they enfold. 










"SOME SAVEET AND QUIET NOOK." 

TO MY WIFE. 

I HAVE in life but wishes three : 
Tiie first is realized in thee; 

The second you can surely gness — 

Sweet presents sent from Heaven to bless; 

The third some sweet and qniet nook, 
To read the leaves of Nature's book. 



I conld not make mj' wishes four — 
Love, children, home — Earth has no more. 



SELECTED HOME READING. 



Will Carleton's Poetical Works. 

Illustrated. Square 8vo, Ornauiental Cloth, $2 00; Gilt Edges, $2 50. 
Farm Ballads. — Farm Legends. — Farm Festivals. — City Ballads. 
Young Folks' Centennial Rhymes. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Thomas Dunn English's Poetical Works. 

The Boy's Book of Battle Lyrics. Ill'd. Square 8vo, Oruamental Cloth, $2 00. 
American Ballads. 32mo, Paper, 25 ceuts; Cloth, 40 ceuts. 

^Old Homestead Poems. 

By Wallace Bruce. Square 8vo, Cloth, $2 00. 

Harper's Cyclopaedia of British and American Poetry. 

Harper's Cyclopaedia of British and American Poetry. Edited by Epes Sar- 
gent. Large 8vo, Illuminated Cloth, Colored Edges, $4 50. 

Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 

Poets of the Nineteenth Century. Selected and Edited by the Rev. Robert 
Aris Willmott, With English and American Additions, arranged by Evert 
A. DuYCKiNCK. New and Enlarged Edition. Superbly Illustrated with 141 
Enoravings, In elegant small 4to form, printed on Superfine Tinted Paper, 
richly bound in Extra Cloth, Bevelled, Gilt Edges, $5 00-; Half Calf, $5 50 ; Full 
Turkey Morocco, $9 00. 

The Poets and Poetry of Scotland. 

From the Earliest to the Present Time. Comprising Characteristic Selections 
from the Works of the more Noteworthy Scottish Poets, with Biographical and 
Critical Notices. By James Grant Wilson. With Portraits on Steel. 2 vols., 
8vo, Cloth, $10 00; Cloth, Gilt Edges, $11 00; Half Calf, $14 50; Full Mo- 
rocco, $18 oo: 

Engravings on Wood by Members of the Society of American 
W^ood -engravers. 

With Descriptive Letter-press by W. M. Laffan. Popular Edition. Large 
Folio, Ornamental Covers, $12 00. 

Coleridge's Ancient Mariner. Illustrated by Dore. 

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. By Samuel Tavlor Coleridge. Illustra- 
ted by GusTAVE Dore. Folio, Illuminated Cloth, Gilt Edges, $10 00. {Ja a 
Box.) 

Poe's Raven. Illustrated by Dore. 

The Raven. By Edgar Allan Poe. Illustrated by Gustave Dor^. AVith 
Comment by E. C. Stedman. Folio (uniform with Dole's "Ancient Mariner"), 
Illuminated Cloth, Gilt Edges, $10 00. {In a Box.) 

Horse, Foot, and Dragoons. 

Sketc])es of Army Life at Home and Abroad. By Rufus Fairchild Zogbaum. 
With Illustrations by the Author. Square Svo, Ornamental Cloth, $2 00. 



Selected Home lieading. 



Rolfe's English Classics. 

Edited, with Notes, by W. J. Rolfe, A.M. Illustrated. Small 4to, Flexible 
Cloth, 56 cents per volume ; Paper, 40 cents per volume. 

Select Poems of Goldsmith. — Select Poems of Thomas Gray. — Select Po- 
ems OF Robert Browning. — A Blot in the 'Scutcheon, and Other Dramas. 
By Robert Browning. — Minor Poems of John Milton. 

Shakespeare's The Tempest. — Merchant of Venice. — King Henry the 
Eighth. — Julius Cesar. — Richard the Second. — Machetil — ^Midsummer-Night's 
Dream. — King Henry the Fifth. — King John. — As You Like It. — King Henry 
IV. Part I. — King Henry IV. Part II. — Hamlet. — Much Ado About Nothing. 
— Romeo and Juliet. —Othello. — Tw'elfth Night. — The Winter's Tale. — Rich- 
ard THE Third. — King Lear. — All's Well that Ends Well. — Goriolanus. — ■ 
Taming of the Shrkw.— Cymbelink. — The Comedy of Errors. — Antony and 
Cleopatra. — Measure for Measure. — Merry Wives of Windsor. — Love's La- 
bour 's Lost. — Timon of Athens. — Two Gentlemen of Verona. — Troilus ani> 
Cressida.— Henry VI. Part L — Henry VL Part II.— Henry VI. Part IIL— 
Pericles, Prince of Tyre. — The Two Noble Kinsmen. — Venus and Adonis, 
«&c. — Sonnets. — Titus Andronicus. 

Friendly Edition of Shakespeare's "Works. 

Edited by W. J. Rolfe. In 20 volumes. Illustrated. 16mo, Sheets, $27 00; 
Cloth, $30 00 ; Half Calf, $60 00. (//i a Box.) 

Shakspeare's Dramatic Works. 

The Dramatic Works of Shakspeare, with the Corrections and Illustrations of 
Dr. Johnson G. Steevens, and others. Revised by Isaac Reed. Illustrated. 
6 vols,, Royal 12mo, Cloth, $9 00; Sheep, $11 40. 

Folk-Lore of Shakespeare. 

By the Rev. T. F. Thiselton Dyer, M.A., O.xon. 8vo, Cloth, $2 50, 

Shakspere : A Critical Study of his Mind and Art. 

r>v Edward Dowden, LL.D,, Vice-president of " The New Shakspere Society." 
12mo, Cloth, $1 75. 

The Works of Oliver Goldsmith. 

Edited by Peter Cunningham, F.S.A. From New Electrotype Plates. 4 vols., 
8vo, Cloth, Paper Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $8 00; Sheep, $10 00; 
Half Calf, $17 00, 

Tennyson's Songs, with Music. 

Songs from the Published Writings of Alfred Tennyson. Set to Music by va- 
rious Composers. Edited by W, G. Cusins. With Portrait and Illu.strations 
by Winslovv Homer, C. S. Reinhart, <fcc. Royal 4to, Cloth, Gilt Edges, $5 00. 

Complete "Works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 

Poet-Laureate, With an Introductory Sketch by Anne Thackeray Ritchie. 
With Portraits and Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $2^00; Gilt Edges, $2 50. 

English Literature in the Eighteenth Century. 

By Thomas Sergeant Pebry. 12uio, Cloth, $2 00. 



Selected Home Reading. 



3 



English Men of Letters. Edited by John Morley. 

12nio, Cloth, 75 cents a volume. {Volumes now ready.) 

JOHXSOX. By Leslie Stephen. — Gibbox. By J. C. Morisou. — Scott. By R. H. 
Hnttoi). — Shellky. By John Ackliugton Synionds. — Hume. By Profe.s.sor Huxley. 
Goldsmith. By Willium Black. — Defoe. By William Minto. — Burns. By Prin- 
cipal Shairp. — Spexsek. By Dean Church. — Thackeray. By Anthony Trollope. — 
BuKKE. By John Morley. — MiLTOX. By Mark Pattif on. — Southey. By Edward 
Dowden. — Chaucer. By Adolphus William Ward. — Buxyax'. By James Anthonj' 
Froude. — Cowper. By Goldwin Smith. — Pope. By Leslie Stephen. — Byrox. By 
John Nichol. — Locke. By Thomas Fowler.— Wordsworth. By F. W. H. Mj-ers. — 
Drydex. By G. Saintsbury. — Hawthorxe. By Henry James, Jr. — Laxdor. By 
Sidney Colvin. -De Quixcey. By David Masson. — Lamb. By Alfied Ainger. — • 
Bextley. By R. C. Jebb.— Dickexs. By A. W. Ward.— Gray. By E. W. Gosse.— 
Swift. By Leslie Stephen. — Sterne. By H. D. Traill. — Macaulay. By James 
Cotter Morison. — Fieldixg. By Austin Dobson. — Sheridax. By Mrs. Oliphant. — 
Addisox. By W. J. Conrthope. — Bacox. By R. W. Church, Dean of St. Paul's. — 
Coleridge. By H. D. Traill. — Sidxey. By J. A. Symonds. — Keats. By Sidney 
Colvin. {Other volumes in. jyyejMiratiou.) 



Some Issues in Harper's Half- Hour Series. 32mo. 

M'Cabe's Ballads of Battle and Bravery. 
Paper, 25 cents j Cloth, 40 cents. 



Goldsmith's Plays. Paper. 2.j cents ; Cloth, 
40 cents. 



Goldsmith's Poems. Paper, 20 cents ; Cloth, 
35 cents. 

Sheridax's The Rivals and The School for 
Scandal. Paper, 25 cents; Cloth, 40 cents. 

Cowper's Task. Paper, 20 cents ; Cloth, 
35 cents. 

Sir Walter Scott's Poems. 

The Lay of tlic Last Minstrel. Paper, 20 

cents ; Cloth, 3.5 cents. 
The Lady of the Lake. Paper, 2.5 cents ; 

Cloth, 40 cents. 
Marmion. Paper, 25 cents ; Cloth, 40 cents. 



Lawrexce's Literature Primers. In Seven 
Volumes. Paper, 25 cents each ; Cloth, 
40 cents each. 

American Literature. — English Literature. 
Koniauce Period. — Classical Period. — .Mod- 
ern Period. — .Media3val Literature. — Latin 
Literature. — Greek Literature. 

Conant's German Literature. Paper, 25 
cents i Cloth, 40 cents. 

Conaxt's Spanish Literature. Paper, 25 
cents; Cloth, 40 cents. 



Pyle's Pepper and Salt; 

Or, Seasoning for Young Folk. By Howard Pvle. 
the Author. 4to, Ornamental Cloth, |2 00. 



Superbly Illustrated by 



The Wonder Clock; 

Or, Four and Twenty Marvellous Tales : being One for eacli Hour of the Day. 
AVritten and Illustrated with 160 Drawings by Howard Pyle, Author of 
"Pepper and Salt," "The Ro.se of Paradise," «tc. Embellished with Verses by 
Katharine Pyle. Large 8vo, Half Leather, $3 00. 

Goldsmith's She Stoops to Conquer. Illustrated by Abbey. 

She Stoops to Conquer; or. The Mistakes of a Night. A Comedy. By Dr. 
Goldsmith. With Ten Full-page Photo-gravure Reproductions, printed on sep- 
arate Plates; many Process Reproductions and Wood-engravings, from Draw- 
ings by Edwix a. Abbey. Decorations by Alfred Parsons. Introduction 
by Austin Dobson. Folio, Illuminated Leather, Gilt Edges, $20 00. {In a 
Box.) 



Selected Home Reading. 



Herrick's Poems. Illustrated by Abbey. 

Selections from the Poetry of Robert Ilerrick. With Drawings by Edwin A. 
Abbey. 4to, Illuminated Cloth, Gilt Edges, $7 50. {In a Box.) 

The Book of Gold, and Other Poems. 

By J. T. Trowbridge. Illustrated. 8vo, Ornamental Covers, Gilt Edges, |2 50. 

Halpine's (Miles O'Reilly) Poems. 

With a Biographical Sketch and Explanatory Notes. Edited by Robert B. 
Roosevelt. Portrait on Steel. Post 8vo, Cloth, $2 50. 

Howells's Modern Italian Poets. 

Modern Italian Poets. Essays and Versions. By William Dean IIowells, 
pp. 370. With Portraits. 12mo, Cloth, $2 00. 

Symonds's W^orks. 

Studies of the Greek Poets. By J. A. Syiwonds. Revised and Enlarged l»y 
the Author. la Two Volumes. Square 16mo, Cloth, $3 50. 

Sketches and Studies in Southern Europe. By J. A. Symonds. In Two 
Voluuies. Post 8vo, Clotb, $4 00. 

Mahaffy's Greek Literature. 

A History of Classical Greek Literature. By J. P. Mahaffy. 2 vols., 12mo, 
Cloth, $4 00. 

Simcox's Latin Literature. 

A History of Latin Literature, from Ennius to Boethius. By George Augus- 
tus SiMCOX, M.A. In Two Volumes. 12mo, Cloth, $4 00. 

Deshler's Afternoons with the Poets. 

Afternoons with the Poets. By C. D. Deshler. 16mo, Cloth, $1 75. 

Songs of Our Youth. 

Set to Music. By the Author of " John Halifax, Gentleman." Square 4to, 
Cloth, |2 50. 

An Unknown Country. 

By the Author of " John Halifax, Gentleman." Richly Illustrated by Fred- 
erick Noel Paton. Square 8vo, Oruauiental Cloth, $2 50. 

Bayne's Lessons from my Masters. 

Lessons from my. Masters : Carlyle, Tennyson, and Ruskin. By Peter Bayne, 
M.A., LL.D. r2mo, Cloth, $1 75. 

Our Children's Songs. Illustrated. 

Selected and Arranged by the Rev. S. Iren.eus Prime, D.D. 8vo, Cloth, $1 00. 



Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

a^ Haupeu & BnoTUEUB will send any of the foregoinrf tcorks by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the 
United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 



■:.;*'!'. 



mmm 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

llillllillllllliilllilll 

015 971 174 2 




